


Mi Verdad

by 994527



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, although nothing terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 22,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3337556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/994527/pseuds/994527
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not sure what time it is before everything starts to sink in; the argument, the time leading up to it, the truth of everything she’d yelled at him, the way it hadn’t even hurt. It hurt, now, because it was all so horribly true. But hearing her say it hadn’t hurt. It wasn’t, he realises, even about her. Not ever, not from day one. The reason why his cheeks are wet now; why he’s sat alone in a house he doesn’t even particularly like, why he’s drinking expensive alcohol from an expensive glass in the middle of the night; that reason isn’t anything to do with her.</p><p>It’s never been simple with Sergio. Since the moment they shared that first laugh over something Fernando can’t even remember, they’ve been friends. The kind of friends other people would kill to have, he imagines. Only, really, they’ve never been that. At least, not to him. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>'I'm on my way.'</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Hay mentiras en los labios"

**Author's Note:**

> The title, and the chapter titles, will come from the Mana/Shakira duet 'Mi Verdad'.
> 
> It's not an AU, but one thing I am changing is that they have no kids in this; just them and Olalla/Pilar. The 'Name/Number': xxxxx are text messages. _Things in italics are either the past or thoughts._ :)
> 
> This is going to be my first actual Sernando fic and it's terrifying but in a possibly positive way...if you like it and want more, please let me know! It makes a massive difference to writing and everything, and I would appreciate it so much! Any feedback is amazing ♥ [and will never be ignored.]
> 
> I just really, really hope I can do them justice. And I hope you enjoy it! ♥
> 
> Zarpamos...

_I just have no idea what to say._ He stares at the phone again, the answer machine blinking at him in the low light, having already listened to the previous few and not wanting to carry on, suddenly realising why he’s not even trying to answer the questions. _I just have no idea what to say._

_“If you don’t start answering me, this is over. I’m not living like this anymore. Answer the fucking phone.”_

_I would, but what can I say to you that doesn’t start with breaking your heart? Unless I lie again. Something I’m good at. Something I feel comfortable in. Something that’s kept us quite happy. Happy enough for this to hurt. Happy enough for me to miss you. Happy enough for so much of me to wish this could be different._ “Sorry.” The word in the almost silence of the dark room almost makes him jump, grip on the glass in his hand faltering briefly before he’s taking another sip and another breath, getting to his feet and walking to the glass doors into the garden, intending to go out there, for a reason that he’s not sure of, before he ends up leaning his forehead there for a while, staring, scenes from the future he’d almost started to imagine could be real playing out, letting his breath mist the glass in front of his mouth and then pressing a kiss into the condensation as he pulls away and downs the last bit of whiskey. _Happy enough. Hmm._

He’s not sure what time it is before everything starts to sink in; the argument, the time leading up to it, the truth of everything she’d yelled at him, the way it hadn’t even hurt. It hurt, now, because it was all so horribly true. But hearing her say it hadn’t hurt. It wasn’t, he realises, even about her. Not ever, not from day one. The reason why his cheeks are wet now; why he’s sat alone in a house he doesn’t even particularly like, why he’s drinking expensive alcohol from an expensive glass in the middle of the night; that reason isn’t anything to do with her. It’s what she was supposed to be, what they were supposed to have, and the cold hard truth of suddenly realising that it’s never going to happen. And that if it did, really, it would be worse. Somehow, it would be worse. 

It’s never been simple. Since the moment they shared that first laugh over something Fernando can’t even remember, they’ve been friends. The kind of friends other people would kill to have, he imagines. Only, really, they’ve never been that. At least, not to him. The attraction was instant, the connection immediate, the need already burning by the time he realised the hopelessness of having fallen completely in love with another man, and not just another man on the street on a random rainy day in November, not the kind of other man who could be hidden and kept secret and somehow be part of a private life. No, the kind of ‘another man’ who shares his fame, passion, and often, changing room and shirt. The kind of other man who kisses him on the cheek before they face off as rivals. The awkward kind of playboy, perfect, straight, red-card earning bastard that makes his skin itch with desire every time they’re close to each other. Enough to drive him almost insane, but not enough to keep him away. The kind of ‘another man’ he’s now again sharing Madrid with, too close to ever really ignore it, and too far away to really make it in any way better. The person he’s settled down to trying to ignore and forget about by burying himself in heterosexual suburbia, everything else set aside, except for the guys he’s fucked regularly and secretly who finally left too many fingerprint bruises on his back for Olalla to not notice.

_“I can’t say anything.”_

_“You could tell me the truth.”_

_“You’ve already told me that.”_

_“You’re not even going to deny-“_

_“No, I’m not going to deny it. But I’m sorry.”_

“I’m sorry. I am really sorry.” He takes in a breath and grits his teeth at the ceiling for a few seconds as the vision of her standing there comes back again, feeling himself really let it go and curl back up where he was before, complete hopelessness raining down again, more whiskey, more tears, more messages left unanswered, before there’s one more added to ‘sent’.

9: She broke up with me.

4: Fuck. Are you ok? Do you need me?

_Do I need you._

9: I don’t know what to do

4: Where are you?

9: At home.

4: I’m on my way.

 _Just like that._ He looks at the clock again and feels the regret at what he might have just caused hit him again, before he surrenders to the inevitability of the events already set in motion and stares at the ceiling, waiting until there’s a car outside the gate and a familiar rhythm to the way the code is punched in. _‘I’m on my way.’_

“Hey.”

_Just like that._


	2. "Hay engaños que por años ocultaron la verdad"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, thank you _so much_ for the first responses. Can't explain how it feels and that's not an overstatement! I really hope you like this...and just, THANK YOU and PLEASE keep it coming/please tell me what you think? Every bit of feedback is so appreciated! ♥

“I’ve got to go.”

“What?!”

_Don’t look at me like that._ “Sorry. I’ll explain later.” _Although I don’t think I ever do._

_You never do._ She sighs under her breath and nods, watching him already leaving the room, frown on and focused, an expression usually reserved for the pitch, clatter of keys collected on his way out echoing back. _Right._ “Sergio…”

“Yeah?”

“You want me to wait-“

“No, go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

_Love you too, goodnight..._ The door closes as she holds her own gaze in the mirror, afraid of the things she’s reading in it, like she has been before, and takes a second to control it before nodding and pulling her hair up into a ponytail. _One day, we have to talk about where you go when you disappear. We have to talk about who you run to when you run from me. We have to talk about why you do it at all when I believe you when you say you love me._ She gives herself another glance, these things always more affecting when the person staring back at her is so stripped back and laid bare, and nods at it before a sad smile fades out as she leans forward to turn off the light. _‘One day.’_

*

_The perfect couple._ He adjusts the rearview mirror slightly, daring himself to say that out loud and knowing he won’t as he catches his eyes in the reflection, letting out a much bigger sigh than he’d been expecting and grasping the wheel for a few seconds, staring down the drive, before he starts the engine and sends the _I’m on my way._ He knows the way Pilar looked at him, and, he thinks, that’s probably the most ironic part; the things he notices in _them_ and always has, the things no one else seems to see, the same things he sees in his own life. The extra second Olalla’s eyes would spend on Fernando when the moment for him had already passed, part played, the accidental glances exchanged between them across the room as the unfocused striker would keep nodding and smiling, hand in the middle of her back, perfectly choreographed. The things Sergio knows he’s never told her. _Although, I’m sure, there are things you’ve never told me. There are questions I’m left with. Thousands of questions._ He waits for the gate, pulled back to the present as another song starts on the radio and he instinctively snaps his hand at the button to turn it off, and then pulls out onto the road and lets the silence calm him down, unsure why he’s so stressed, until his brain whirs round the details again and the words jump out. _She broke up with you._

He’s not sure why that’s such a point of focus, because surely at some point in the shared days and nights she’s caught the same details Sergio has. Surely at some point there’s been a missed kiss or a forgotten goodnight, she's squeezed and he hasn't squeezed back; something to start the niggling doubt. Or maybe there hasn’t, and something more is to blame. _Maybe it’s something terrible. Maybe you broke her heart. Maybe she broke yours. Maybe I’m wrong, and she actually had it to break after all. Maybe she looks at someone else the way she used to look at you. Maybe I’m wrong and we’re going to plan how you get her back. Maybe I’m going to have to help you with that._

_‘I don’t know what to do.’_ It’s not a good answer to a straightforward question, he thinks, although 2am communication never has much to do with straightforward questions and good answers. But this, certainly, wasn’t the right response to _are you ok?_. He thinks about that, wondering if it’s one of those moments he’s fairly sure only he has ever seen and he’s reading right between the lines, or whether it’s just a good friend in the same city not wanting to be more alone than the earlier half of the evening has already made sure of, before he realises that wasn’t the question at all. _Do you need me. That’s what I put._

He adjusts the mirror again, headlights behind him reflecting a little too much, and taps his fingers against the wheel a few times as he waits for the lights, patience never a strong point, eventually leaving him screaming away on green at much-too-fast-for-the-police-to-be-pleased km/h, radio back on and shoulders rolled to try and calm down, before he’s punching the code in the gate and crunching through the gravel up to the door.

_Maybe you’re fine. Maybe I drove over in the middle of the night without even having been asked to and gave everything away._ He takes one last, calming breath, eyes shut, accompanied by a _maybe you noticed_ from the back of his brain, before he tries the door, finds it open, and goes in. 

_Noticed what._


	3. "Hay mentiras compasivas; hay mentiras por piedad"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry realised I never put the chapter titles in English. 'There are lies on the lips' is the first, 'there are deceptions that for years hid the truth' the second, and now 'there are compassionate lies; merciful lies' ;) ♥ [that's my version of how I'd translate them anyway].
> 
> Please let me know what you think; the worst thing is silence. And I get dangerously addicted to feedback and consequently everybody wins ;) ♥ I'm also on tumblr so if you want to anon me love or hate for it you can always find me there ;) 
> 
> Thanks so much! ♥ espero que os guste :)

The first few minutes are strange. The concern on his face, the hurt look in his eyes, the slight disbelief at the way he’s suddenly stood there, which Fernando shares. _You’re actually here, in my house, in the middle of the night, hovering around like you want to hug me. And wouldn’t that be a great way to make this even worse._ He holds his eye contact for a few seconds, wondering what to say or where to start, before he feels that resolve fade into nothing as quickly as it appeared as the defender sits on the sofa next to him and picks up his glass of whiskey from the table in front of them, taking his own sip without a thought as to whether that’s ok, the shared gesture making the striker well up again slightly and bite his lip, too many moments with Olalla pulled into stark contrast when he’s gone back to a drink to find it depleted, or a plate to find the same, and felt a flare of frustration at being forced into sharing. That’s not there now, more a feeling of wanting to record where his lips touched the glass and make sure he gets the right place when he takes it back, _pathetic but true_ ringing in his ears, before he tries to take as clandestine deep breath as possible as he takes it back and downs the rest, pouring more and putting the glass back down equidistant between them on the table, that saying enough, he hopes, about whether he wants to share or not. _I want to share, Sese. Sofa, bed, house, whiskey, whatever you want._

They’ve had moments like this before. Professional ones when one has seen the other sneak away and known that the need for peace doesn’t apply to them, or personal ones similar to this in a few ways, except that they were never final, and they were never, Fernando thinks, a moment where he gave up. _Or alone on my sofa._ They were just moments where something had gone wrong. And he doesn’t care about crying in front of him any more than he cares about crying in front of himself, but it’s never physical. Hugs and kisses and messing around in public or almost have never been a barrier they've stayed on the other side of. Sergio is that person, especially, who throws his heart out at great speed and backs it up with all the little gestures that to a stranger must seem strange, but everyone knows that, now. No one asks any questions. Fernando knows not to take it to mean anything more than what it obviously does. He does the same with Iker. Isco. Cristiano. _Every fucking person on your team and ours._ He tries to bring himself back from that, arguing with himself over what meant what and why a common train of thought and one that only ever stops at stations ‘doubt’ ‘frustration’ and ‘misery’, and sighs as he leans back into the sofa, looking sideways at the patient, ironically, man sat so, so close to him.

 _Why are you wearing half a suit._ “Did you leave some important event-“

“No.” _‘I’ll explain later.’_

“But the suit-“

“We were already home.” The defender looks sideways back at him and smiles, sadly, not really having remembered what he looked like until then and looking back out towards the garden with a sigh before leaning back into the same posture and lazily pulling at the tie, balling it up once it’s free and throwing it onto the coffee table next to the glass, chin tilting up as he undoes the top couple of buttons and pulls at the collar, before his cuffs are freed and sleeves rolled up, whole thing feeling to the man on his left like the most wonderful, erotic show he’s never even had to pay to see. _You come over without even asking, you drink my expensive spirits, you throw your shit around. You sit there and burn me alive with your rolled up sleeves and rustling, expensive fabric. And then you look at me, and it’s almost like you know. Which you can’t, because I don’t think you’d dare to come here if you did._ “What happened?”

“Argument.” The striker stares straight ahead again, momentary spell broken slightly, and hangs his head down. “Big argument.”

“And she broke up with you.”

 _Well…_ “She gave me ultimatums and deadlines...”

“Right…”

“That I ignored on purpose.”

 _Fuck._ “Oh.”

“So by this time…or a while ago...” He looks at his watch and takes another sip from the glass that’s now cradled back in his hand. “Yes, she broke up with me.”

“Why are you upset?” _Oh, great._ “I mean, if you-“

“I know what you mean.” The sad but somehow cheeky smile he shoots to his right makes Sergio’s chest explode silently. “It’s just not going to work.”

 _So it’s the most dangerous permutation it could have been._ He looks down at their hands, close together between them, and instinctively moves his further away to rest on his leg instead. _Right._ “Why?” Instinctively, because of how he’s trained himself to be instinctive when they’re in private.

 _Why._ “Because I don’t honestly love her.” _Wow._ He lets that sit in the air between them for a few seconds, feeling the weight on his shoulders lift slightly at having said the words in the presence of someone else, before taking another sip and another breath. “And she deserves better.”

 _Not sure that exists._ “You shouldn’t be with someone you don’t love. But I’m not sure you’re not the best, to be honest.” He lets a cheeky smile and wink cross the space between them, desperate to lighten the mood and ‘joke’ flirting certainly nothing new, before sighing and taking the glass from him for another sip, feeling the bolt of electricity shoot through him as their fingers briefly brush, wishing the other man would ever feel the same thing. “Something happened..?”

“Yeah.” The striker nods and tries to hide the bolt of electricity that shoots through him as their fingers touch.

“What happened?”

 _You mean, ‘what did you do’._ “I cheated on her.” _And I just said it, just like that._ “A lot.”

 _Fuck._ “More than one-"

“More than one. More than ten. I don’t even know anymore.” The thought of it brings him back to the verge of tears and he stares at the ceiling to get a bit of help from gravity in not giving that away. “So I really didn’t deserve her.”

“You never said-“

“I never told anyone.”

“Why?” _..didn't you tell me?_

 _Why._ “Because I didn’t want to admit it to myself. So definitely didn't want to admit it to Sergio Ramos, reformed character...” He looks back at him briefly with a sad smile and grabs the whiskey back.

“The cheating?” _Sure I am._

He shrugs again, nodding into the glass, and then puts it back on the table and hangs his head, suddenly terrified he’s about to tell him and no idea why. _Yeah sure, the cheating._ “And who with.”

“Who with.”

 _People who make me forget about her, and even forget about you._ “I don’t know if I want to ruin your opinion of me any more for one night to be honest-“

“You won’t. Trust me, you won’t.”

“I know you’ve got an image or you had but this is different-“

“You can tell me anything and I’d still be sat here. Come on, it's _me._ ”

 _Except that one thing. Because yes, it's you._ But he starts talking, finally brave enough to let the words trip out, focused in front of him and almost trying to forget there’s anyone else there at all. “She wasn’t enough. Never. I mean…I love her? Loved her. I think. But…she wasn’t enough. And I did it once and the guilt killed me, and then I did it again and it still did, but I couldn’t stop. She’s just not enough and I hid it well enough. I didn’t want to hurt her. I don’t ever want to hurt her. Sometimes she’s asked, like she’s trying to make sure. And I obviously lied well enough. Until today.”

“She asked again...” _So you did it last night. Today? Tonight?_ The thought, despite long having lived with the images of Fernando and Olalla in his brain, but now joined by Fernando and anyone else that still isn't him, makes his skin itch.

“She asked. And I didn’t deny it.”

“Why.”

“Because I think I finally stopped denying it to myself.” _That and everything else._ “Lying to her to try and stop her getting hurt, ok. I learnt to live with that. But it got too hard to live with lying to myself all the time. Especially being back here. It was ok because it was just a dirty secret, but then it wasn’t. It's the true bit.”

 _What?_ “I’m not sure what you mean." He waits for an explanation that doesn't come and takes another sip of whiskey, voice coming out slightly hoarser and quieter than before. "You mean don't want to be tied down?"

 _No. I know you don't, amor. And I know you won't._ "No. I mean..." He takes a deep breath to ready himself for it before spreading his arms in a kind of helpless shrug, hanging his head again and staring at the carpet, feeling the eyes burning into his back and hoping they're not about to evaporate. "I mean...I’m gay.”


	4. "La voz que me calma"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title - 'the voice that calms me'.
> 
> Sadly the trailed off "b[aby]" *cough* "but..." doesn't work in Spanish but I really couldn't make it work in both so :/
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH. I hope you're enjoying it, honestly I don't know if you realise the pure joy and massive grin I'm getting at the responses. I'm still nervous over here in beautiful football land but just ♥ seriously!
> 
> Happy Valentine's day! Since Sese didn't turn up to _my_ house in the middle of the night last night, there will probably be more tonight. ;) *sob* ;) so much ♥

_‘I’m gay.’_ Sergio feels like he must be falling through the floor, words said, in the end, so simply and quietly that he’s unsure for a few seconds whether he’s actually heard them or made them up in hopeful delirium. The only thing he is sure of is the whoosh of blood rushing in his ears, heart rate suddenly having rocketed, grip on his own leg waking him up from it slightly as it gets too much. _You seriously-_

“You can go if you want.” Fernando is still there, staring at the floor, having known this was coming, he was quietly sure, even from him. Because what’s the alternative? He’s certainly not going to pull him into a hug and do what he probably would have done had the words been admitting anything else. _I probably could have said ‘I’m a heroin addict’ and the reaction would have been better._ The silence, he expects, will change into a kind of awkward tango out the door citing bullshit reasons why he can no longer be sat on his sofa with him in the middle of the night sharing whiskey, then there’ll be gradually less and less contact until eventually they’re those people who aren’t sure what to say to each other when their paths cross. No response, still, almost making it worse, he sighs and sits back up, downing the last of the contents of the glass and getting to his feet, meeting his own gaze in the reflection in the glass doors, then shifting his focus down and to the right to look at the defender without really having to; heart jumping slightly as their eyes lock and he finds him staring straight at him, not having expected him to be facing it straight in the face. “Sese, it’s ok. You don’t have to-“

“Why would I go.”

“Because it’s the middle of the night and I just told you-“

“Yeah? What did you just tell me?”

“Something you probably don’t want to deal with.” He feels the anger rising, nothing at all coming back at him from the other man, at least a reaction of some sort worth it somehow he would have thought, Sergio almost standoffish and still frozen in place, before pulls his eyes away as he starts heading for the kitchen, a glass of water needed now, sobriety improved by the situation but still on shaky ground. _You know I thought you might be that one person-_ “Something you probably want to pretend you didn’t hear. Or convince me it’s just bullshit and I’m confused. I’m not confused.” He stops the walk and the rant, now completely incensed for no real reason and turning back to him to really make the point. “Just go, forget this happened. Forget what I said. Don’t tell anyone, just go, no excuses needed. You know, in case I jump on you and-“

“Why are you angry?” The younger man is now on his feet, staring at him like he’s approaching some sort of baby animal and terrified of spooking it, hands even held up slightly. “Why are you assuming-“

“I think not saying anything says enough.”

“Really.”

_Why are YOU angry?!_ “Yeah, really. So just-“

“Me just? You just. Calm down.”

“Says _you_.”

“Oh, great. Thanks-“

“What do you expect-“

“Why are you so mad at me? Calm the fuck down. Sit down.”

“No! Just fuck off.”

“What?!” The defender throws his arms up and stares at him, never having seen anything like it in the older man before, 'normal' reversed between them, usual somehow sadly mischievous twinkle in the striker's eyes replaced by genuine fury. _And maybe betrayal._ “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Just calm down and come and sit back down and we’ll-“

“What the fuck is wrong with _me_?! I just told you the biggest thing in my life and you’ve not even said one word except to get angry-“

“I’m shocked but-”

“Great, fine. I don’t even-“

“Well now I’m getting pretty angry, yeah.”

“What?!” The striker leans forward slightly like he’s trying to catch it, disbelief only adding to the by now burning rage, ironic campness of the gesture not caught by either of them given the conversation. “What-“

“You’re yelling at me for something I’ve not even done!”

“Typical-“

“You know what, just fucking shut up for a minute, ok?”

“Don’t even try-“

“SHUT. UP.” Louder now, really meaning it and teeth gritted. “Let me talk.” _Deep breath._ He takes one and feels the guilt for the tone boomerang back at him as he takes in the look on the other man’s face. “Please?”

_Please. Please?_ “Ok.” He hears the word come out, suddenly quiet and sounding tiny in the now too open-plan space, anger sapped, and watches the same dissipation go through the defender, taking his own deep breath. _What am I saying. He’s still here._ “Ok. S-sorry.”

_God, don’t cry._ “Sorry b…” _Baby._ “Sorry but please don’t cry.”

The simple way he says it, and the genuine _if you do I’m going to join you_ underwritten in it, just makes it worse and he looks away in a sad smile, lip bitten and voice miles away. “It’s just a big thing.”

“I know.”

_I don’t think you do._ “Hmm.”

“No one else knows?”

“Who else am I going to tell?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who else would you tell?”

“Just you. So please come back.”

_I know._ “Back. Where.”

“Here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re no different to me than when I drove over here-”

“Don’t-“

“I’m just telling the truth.” He takes a few steps forward, everything still seeming like an insane dream somewhere between bliss and torture, and ends up a couple of paces in front of him, swallowing hard to have the courage to look him in the face again, heart hammering. “It’s ok, just calm down.” _Irony._

“I can’t-“

“Yeah, you can.” He lets a slightly sad, knowing smile flash between them, watching the tiniest hint of spark fire back up in the striker’s eyes, before daring to reach out a shaky hand to his arm, not really sure what he’s going to do when it gets there, before he takes another step into it and pulls him into a hug, scent and feeling of him under his fingertips sending tremors through him he hopes the other man can’t feel; this definitely not the moment for _his_ biggest secret; understanding, probably, he imagines, the exact opposite of what Fernando expects him to: either one or both of them being attracted to men doesn’t change the relationship between them, and he’s not going to be jumped on or pulled to the bedroom because of it, and vice versa. He breathes him in a bit, aware of the minutiae of every action and desperately trying to give nothing away, as he feels slender fingers run up his back and clench into the fabric of his shirt at his shoulder blades, Fernando relaxing against him and almost nuzzling his neck, grip getting tighter and hanging on for a few seconds before the defender clears his throat and presses his lips against his ear, voice quiet although there’s no need for it to be. “You’re exactly the same to me.”

“But don’t you-“

“No.” He gives him a gentle squeeze and lets himself relax a bit more; tense the last thing he wants to be letting the other man read in him. “I don’t anything, I’m just proud you’re being honest and I’m proud you chose _me_ to tell.” He feels the lump in his throat get bigger as his neck starts getting a bit damp, feeling the other man trying, _trying_ to keep himself under control, before he’s backing them back towards the sofa, pulling away and watching the lost expression as the last vestige of _oh now you’re going to leave_ crosses the striker’s face, and grabs his hand to pull him back in, reassurance taken on board and ending up lying there with the most beautiful man in the world, he thinks, wedged between him and the back of the sofa, face buried in his chest and suddenly just both completely quiet, Sergio staring at the ceiling for a while and letting him hold on, before something else snaps and he turns over slightly, arm going round him to pull him in, now staring at the back of the sofa above the blonde hair nestled under his chin, fingers playing patterns on his back that, he hopes, would be a completely straight thing to do if he could imagine being such a thing. _Iker would do this, wouldn’t he? Just a hug._


	5. "Me voy a refugiar al oasis de tu amor"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm going to take refuge in the oasis of your love" ...sounds a bit more OTT in English ;)
> 
> Honestly, just _thank you_ and please keep it coming! [Of course, if you like it ;)]. Normally it will make more appear faster. Today sorry it's about 4 hours later than I intended ;) :/

He honestly can’t believe it when he seems to come round to the reality of it, Sergio’s arm around him, his scent in his nose, his fingers ghosting over the fabric of his t shirt in the small of his back. It takes his breath for a few seconds, a sudden swell of hope and almost certainty that it means more than it probably does, before that fades again as the rest of the evening, before this, before the defender arrived, runs through his mind again and he gives up the questions and relaxes into it, eyes closed and hand going round the other man, running up his back until it’s splayed between his shoulder blades, feeling the taught muscles underneath the cotton of the shirt and desperately trying to stop his fingers moving; that, he’s sure, would be too far for a very understanding but very straight footballer to deal with, when he’s already got his arms around his apparently gay friend. _But I love you so much for this. For not being scared off._ After a while he’s feeling himself swaying between awake and asleep, distantly amazed by that, thinking tonight would be one of those that left him greeting the sunrise from the wrong side of the night, and proved wrong. _Again._

*

It’s 49 minutes before the younger player feels Fernando’s breathing change and realises he’s gone to sleep, because Sergio can just make out the clock if he dares to lift his head slightly. _Far too late or criminally early._ And it surprises him in a way; the rhythm of his own heart still loud enough, he would have thought, to feel like a hammer against the older man’s temple, but obviously not. And he’s not sure what to do, not sure what he wants him to do, not sure what would be better to have to face tomorrow. He stares, for a while, just able to pull his eyes far enough away to focus on the striker’s face without waking him, long lashes and freckles left in peace and most traces of the evening’s emotions locked away for the night, and allows himself, with held breath, a moment of honest truth for the first time that night, pressing his lips gently into the blonde hair nuzzled against him and sighing into it, eyes closed, just catching his hand in time, he prays, as he accidentally starts to run his fingers through it. _I didn’t even know how much. Enough to think about you all the time, enough to miss you a lot, enough to turn up in the middle of the night, yeah. But I didn’t realise how much._

*

He wakes again after a while, unsure of where he is for a second before it comes back to him, not having moved and given that away, he hopes; taken over immediately by the need to pretend he’s no idea where he is, asleep and out for the night, not knowing whether he’s ever going to be given another opportunity like this and definitely planning on making the most of it, as guilty as that makes him feel as the thought crosses his mind. _Sorry. I’m sure you’d understand though, the other way around. I’m sure I would. Wouldn’t I?_ He moves enough to get slightly comfier, eyes steadfastly closed and murmuring like he knows he does when he’s asleep, and feels the arm around him go slack as it waits for him to settle, and then pull him in again slightly, fingers still not still, the younger man obviously still awake, that making the briefest frown cross the striker’s face as he thinks about the repercussions of it, just lying there holding onto him for what must be over an hour by now, just ‘because’. Because he realises, since he calmed down enough to be back in character and ended up in the hug over the other side of the room, they’ve not really said much, if anything. They just ended up here, and stayed here. _At least I have an excuse. An excuse that’s going to make me feel pathetic tomorrow when you’re grinning at me over coffee and breakfast, flicking through the newspaper and making faces at the stupidity it’s informing you about. Or maybe you don’t do that ‘at home’. Maybe here’s not ‘at home’ anyway and it never will be. Maybe it’ll be just like there’s a big international tournament waiting for us in a few hours, and it could be me, or anyone else sat opposite you._ He catches himself as he almost nuzzles his chest, drifting off again, almost, before he feels adrenalin flood through him and his breath catch as he’s sure, _sure?_ , he feels the defender press his lips into his hair. 

*

 _It’s a shame._ He knows he’s done it again, kiss gentle but definite, and has now passed the point of really caring; sure either lying or explaining would be better than not having done it, and breathes him in before settling back down, turning into him a bit more and making sure they fit together, hand daring to go between them to undo his belt and gently, over several excruciating minutes, pull it free of his trousers, hips lifted slightly off the cushion for him to pull it free, before moving his arm back to let it hover over the edge behind him and letting it drop quietly to the rug. _It’s a shame I can’t just watch you sleep for the rest of my life._ He waits a few seconds to check he’s not woken up before he realises the pattern he’s been staring at on the back of the sofa is actually a blanket or throw, not the sofa itself, and gently moves his arm up to see if he can grab it, managing that fairly certain in the knowledge that he’s not woken him up, before he discards the _but in the morning when I have to explain…_ and pulls it over them, running his hand down Fernando’s back to make sure he’s covered and finally closing his eyes for the first time since he arrived, knowing however long he stays awake, it's still going to come to an end when the striker wakes up. _In the morning when I have to explain. But at least we got a while._


	6. "Mi bebe que me calma el alma con risas"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My baby who calms my soul with laughter" - again, English kind of ruins it ;) :/ 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH. Seriously! ♥
> 
> I really hope you like it, please let me know...honestly..just thank you!

Fernando wakes up first, he’s aware, probably because he went to sleep first, again. And somehow he manages to untangle himself from the defender without waking him, although not before spending a while just enjoying the feeling, smiling into the fabric of his shirt and blushing and laughing under his breath at the very definite accidental arousal he can feel between them. _God, imagine you waking up to that. That would be just great._ Everything, he knows, always feels a bit better after sleep and someone driving over to hug you in the middle of the night, and this is no different. He looks down at him for a few seconds, stood over the discarded belt with a glance down and slight blush, imagining how he must have had to move to free himself from it, and then takes a deep breath and rubs his hands over his face, heading for the shower.

*

_You’re gone._ It’s almost instinctive, and definitely disappointing, and it leaves him pressing his face into the cushion and groaning slightly, that not helping as the faint trace of the other man’s scent still finds a way into his nose. _And you’re in the shower. And you’re going to smell amazing._ He turns over properly, taking a few minutes to try and become more PG-13 before the striker comes back, blushing already at the possibility of what he’d felt before he’d moved. _Hope not. But still…for all you know I dreamt about my beautiful girlfriend and one of her beautiful girlfriends. And I can just lie._ He listens to the sound of the water stop upstairs, thought of the other man naked, water running over him, towel round his waist, hair darker and saturated and ruffled making him bite his lip and fall back into rated R for a while, before he sits up and stretches, staring outside at the sun that’s now more than invading the garden that last night had looked so far away from the well-tended and inviting little tropical heaven that it does now. _But that always happens. Although it’s not like I can say part of me doesn’t think it was one of the best nights of my life._ He gets to his feet, stretching and pulling the shirt fully out the waistband of his trousers before shrugging and unbuttoning it, no other comfier clothes with him anyway, and wanders over into the kitchen, coffee machine on, knowing how to work it because it’s the same one he has and that the kind of thing that happens between best friends, starting to hum under his breath in the absence of anything else to do. He waits for it, staring at it for a while and letting himself zone out as it fills the room with the smell of good morning hope and false energy, before biting his lip and taking a deep breath as he hears the striker padding down the stairs. _I think I hear bare feet. Now please God…_

*

He can’t read the look on his face, but the open shirt makes him draw a short sharp breath and suddenly realise what he looks like himself; towel round his waist and hair towel dried into a kind of half-decent imitation of the dry version, brain not really having differentiated between Sese in the kitchen of his house and Sergio Ramos in a team changing room. _Shit._ He watches him kind of notice, trying to look a whole lot more relaxed than he feels, _same, same_ and makes it over to the central island and leans behind it before either of them seem to have caught up with how awkward this moment is supposed to be, clothes or less of them than intended; it’s still the morning after the night before. 

_So start simple._ “Morning…”

“Morning.” The defender kind of yawns in response and covers his mouth with his hand before cracking into a grin at the immediate yawn in return, brain too foggy to stop himself saying it and nodding knowingly. “I think we should probably go back to bed.” _Oh, fuck._ His cheeks are more pink than his favourite t shirt before he watches Fernando’s follow suit and they stare in opposite directions for a couple of excruciating seconds, both half panicking and half pleading, before tentatively looking back at each other; the Sevillano cracking into a grin and making an extreme _eek_ face. _You’re smiling again._ “Well…you know…”

“Mm not sure I do…”

_How do you do that? Look so lost and amused at the same time._ “You’re gay. It’s ok. But please don’t _rub it in_.” He grins again, both still a bit red faced but almost giddy on having dared to say it, before shrugging and turning back to the coffee machine, laughing quietly to themselves and trying to calm the elevated heart rates they’ve both ended up with. “Coffee?”

_Sergio Ramos,_ “Please.”

* 

“Seriously, ok?” The defender steps back slightly from the stove and holds up his hands, motioning at the pan and then back at him, amused but genuinely ready to kill him, having to stop himself batting his hands out the way. “I know what I’m doing, stop trying to interrupt.”

“I just think-“

“I just think you did one baking advert for Chelsea-“

“Samsung. And yeah, I did.” The striker looks sideways at him and holds up the eggs, half smile. “And it’s my kitchen.”

“I started it.”

“Hmm…” Fernando screws his face into a _not so sure_ before grinning at the complete indignation coming back at him. _God, you’re just…_ “Being honest, I got the pan out, and the eggs, and suggested eggs-“

“I don’t know where anything is.”

“Yeah.” The striker widens his eyes and grins as he nods. “ _I know._ ”

“Ok…please?”

“Please?!”

“Please can I make you breakfast in peace?”

_Every day if you want._ He plays the eye roll and sigh for effect before putting the eggs down, backing away with his hands up and trying to bite his lip and not laugh at the still amused spark in his eyes, but now very much flared-nostrils lower on his face. “Be my guest...”

“I will.” The defender takes a deep breath and nods, looking back down at the pan and then the eggs, and then the pan, and then the eggs again, before gritting his teeth at the laugh from behind him and holding up his middle finger without looking at him. “Stage fright.”

“I’m sure.”

“Might help if the other people in the room had clothes on…”

“Says you in your open shirt...“

"At least I'm wearing one!"

"True. And it's white, and almost _nice_ -"

“Ok, do you want me to be honest?” He sighs again and Fernando's lip wobbles in another half giggle.

_Please._ “Always.” _How can anyone be so-_

He turns back to him, eye contact bringing them both a bit further back into serious, before giving him a little helpless half shrug and smile. “I’m honestly going to cook breakfast, ok? So just…go and get dressed, find plates…whatever. But I am going to cook breakfast.”

_I’d almost believe someone if they told me he felt the same._ “Right.” He nods, accepting, and takes a breath as he turns to leave, seeming like the last thing he really wants to do, but also the only thing that might just save the situation from a moment where he melts into temporary insanity and does something truly stupid. “Do your best…”

“Always, _hombre..._ ”

_Yup, I know, and I love you for it._


	7. "Hay mentira en la mirada"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sorry!!!! Life got in the way so much!! :/ new job, busy week...but I will be better, and there will be at least one more before the end of the weekend.
> 
> And this was meant to be earlier but..Atleti...so.. ;) BUT it is pretty long?! :D
> 
> I hope you like it, and I CANNOT express my gratitude for the feedback, just THANK YOU!! ♥ please keep it coming!! :)

_You’re still here. You’re still flicking through the newspaper grumbling and pointing at things. You cooked kind of acceptable eggs, and your eyes keep meeting mine when you look at me. Which I hope you think means it happens at the same time, rather than the truth; the fact that I can’t take my eyes off you._ The striker smiles at him again, hoping the blush in his cheeks isn’t too obvious, and then manages to pull his eyes away to look down at his plate for at least a few seconds. _And don’t really want to._

Now in a borrowed Nine Fitness t shirt and jogging bottoms, to half match the outfit his host is wearing and, in all honesty, to try and force himself to relax, Sergio is quietly impressed with the lack of injuries he’s sustained whilst cooking breakfast. _And I didn’t even start a fire._ He’s stressed. It’s not the kind of negative stress he’d normally try and ignore, it’s more the kind of nervous energy and excitement that’s he used to, but in a professional setting, usually. Usually, breakfast with a friend swearing at the stupidity of the world is not the kind of situation that makes his skin hum and his heart rate hover above normal; nor is it the kind of situation where, usually, he keeps blushing, and can’t take his eyes off him. Although, he’s aware, it is ending in a lot of accidental but welcomed eye contact, because the object of his fascination seems to share it, a bit. Although he knows not for the same reason – the striker just seems to still be quietly awed at him still being there, which Sergio is enjoying because the benefits are pretty good – being looked at and just generally being the center of attention of the person who’s the center of your world too – but it leaves a bittersweet aftertaste every time it happens; the frustration of seeing that spark of something in his eyes but knowing it doesn’t mean what he wants it to. Because, he thinks, Fernando’s probably chalking all these things he’s seeing in the defender down to him now knowing he’s gay. _But no. I’m not blushing because it’s weird or uncomfortable, I’m blushing because the other option would probably get me thrown out and break a lot of plates as I threw you on the table._ The thought makes him cough slightly, taking a swig of coffee and staring resolutely into the mug until he’s got it under control, that perfectly doe eyed little amused smile still directed at him by the time he dares to look back. Because that’s how it started, the whole thing. Something about Fernando got under his skin enough to make him question, but not enough to really think about him like that. Until he was drunk and having his clothes ripped off by a stranger – a male stranger – and everything suddenly became clearer, and much more x-rated, and the real torture of not being able to do anything about it started to take over from the frustration of not understanding why he was so caught up on this particular one of his ‘friends’. Sitting next to him on the way to the ground, staring out the window and trying desperately not to let it become obvious. Eyes averted whenever possible. Hugs and kisses when the safety blanket of an audience kept them over the right side of a line,. And now, having done most of it although never with the right person – the one sat trying to read the look on his face – he’s long given up trying to make his mind stay away from it. _And another blush…_

“Ok?”

“Yeah. Just, er…” _Just dreaming about fucking you on the dining room table. How about you?_ “Just remembered I’d probably better call Pilar and, er…explain…”

“Right.” _Explain. Explain. Ok…_ “You’re not going to tell-“

“No, course not.”

_I thought you’d trust her with your life, but ok._ “Oh.”

“Oh? You want me to tell her?”

“No, I just…um, I don’t know. I kind of assumed maybe you’d share that…you, er…seem to share a lot-“

“No.” The one word response, he knows, is too far over the line into sounding like begging the other man to read between them, and he sinks another sip of coffee before he manoeuvres his way out of it. “I, er…I mean it’s not mine to share, so…no…I won’t?”

“Ok.”

_Ok. Great, that explains that so well._ “Ok..?”

“Yeah?”

“Ok.”

“How is she?”

_Ok I preferred one word responses._ He holds his eye contact for a few seconds, aware it’s probably too long, aware that in a movie there would probably be a paragraph in the script about everything the look is sharing between them, aware his eyes can’t quite lie as well as he wants them to, having checked in the mirror. _Fine. ‘Fine’._ “Yeah, fine…”

_You’re lying._ “Not, er…mad about you running off in the middle of the night…?”

_No more than usual._ He swallows that down with another sip of coffee, cheeks burning again and a montage of things he’d rather forget having done flashing through his brain, before he feels the normal guilt come crashing down again; the one he’s learnt to live with and the one, he realises with a little shiver, that hasn’t accompanied him once since he walked into this house. _Maybe you’re good for me. Despite the physical and mental torture, maybe I’m right when I’m trying to find reasons to call you and talk to you and see you, even though I know how it feels when we go back to separate houses or press ‘end call’._ “She understands.” _So little._

"Oh, well...that's good." _You're still lying._ He watches his face carefully as his phone starts to ring, watching him take it out and see who it is, knowing himself who it is already, and then watches him excuse himself and walk outside. _You're lying to me, I think._ He takes a deep breath and watches him pace, wondering how much is too much to watch, and more and more sure. _But you're definitely, definitely lying to her._

Sergio realises the lie is on the verge of being tested, excusing himself and wandering out into the garden to talk to her, resolutely not looking back inside, not seeing the other man put the cup down a bit too hard and splash the table with coffee, fists clenched and frustration calmed in deep, focused breaths, eyes of the striker going back to the man in the garden once he’s past it, watching him talk, wondering what he’s saying, aware that maybe Pilar understanding was a little overstated, given the hand gestures and obvious irritation the younger player is showing. _But then, that’s understandable, isn’t it?_ He watches a bit longer until Sergio’s putting the phone down, and then bites his lip at the way the defender stops, hands on hips and gaze levelled at the sky, long sigh obviously expelled, before he turns round again and falters slightly as he realises he’s had an audience.

“Ok?”

“Not so great.”

“Yeah, you should probably go.”

“Oh. Do you want me to go?”

“Well…no…”

“Good, because I don’t want to go.”

_You don’t want to go._ “Oh.”

“So…yeah.”

“Do you feel awkward? Everything seems a bit awkward.”

“No. Not about…you being gay, if that’s what-“

“Yeah.”

“Then, no.”

“But about something. Did something happen I don’t know about?”

The defender looks at him for a second, conversation suddenly so serious and genuine, which feels much stranger in broad daylight, and then feels his shoulders slump slightly and nods. _I’m in love with you._ “It’s not going well.”

“You’re still top of the t-“

“Not that.”

“I know.” The older man gives him a slightly sad smile and shrugs slightly, still feeling that weird distance between them and holding himself back from a hug. _I really hope it comes back. The affection. Hugs and kisses and the things I like to pretend mean so much._ “I just…I’m not sure what to say…”

_Me neither._ “How does it feel?”

“What?”

“Being single?”

“Don’t know yet.” The striker sits himself on the sofa and leans his head back on the back of it, not really looking at anything but eyes fixed on the same point on the wall he’d stared at through all the moments he’d been nervous in the night before. “It’s not been that long, has it?!”

“Well, no. You regret it?”

“No. But I-“

“I know, you have a reason.”

“Things not working is reason enough.”

“You think?”

“Yeah?!”

“Ok, ok.” The defender holds his hands up, grinning at him and now sat next to him, aware that probably sounded strange to someone who didn’t know the run down on the motives, and hands him a beer. _You know, the cover. The thing I didn't even realise it was._ “So you’re telling me to leave her?” _Also beer after breakfast. Ouch._

“NO! I’m telling you…well no, I’m not telling you anything. I’m asking if you’re happy.”

“I’m quite happy.”

“I sense a but…”

“But…”

“There we go. Come on, your turn now.”

“My turn?”

“Well you have my darkest secrets and basically held me like a baby all night so come on, I’ll try and remember what it’s like being straight and give you some amazing advice.” He smirks sideways at him, clinking their bottles together and taking a swig, before staring back at that point on the wall again, swell of confidence fading slightly as he realises how close together they are again. _Although we basically woke up as man and wife, so it could be worse._ “Hit me.”

“Ok.” _You know, the irony is, if it wasn’t you, you’d actually have the best advice I can imagine._ “Maybe later though.”

“Right…”

“Yeah first I want to know what it’s like to be fucked in the ass.” He grins and bites his lip as the striker, who was mid-sip, explodes a mouthful of beer across the space in front of them and splutters his way upright, eyes wide and horrified, gradually changing into little bursts of nervous laughter.

“WHAT?!”

_Technically not a lie._ “Well…I heard you know?”

“Well…yeah…” _Pink, pink, pink cheeks forever._ “I do know. Why do YOU want to know?!”

“Because I’m curious.” _Phrasing._ “And I fucking knew it.”

“What?!”

“Fernando Torres, professional footballer, definite bottom.”

“Ok I changed my mind, get the fuck out of my house-“

“Jejeje.” He grins at him again, and the red face, and shrugs before scrubbing his hand over the striker’s hair to piss him off further, giggling into his beer and finally feeling the awkward air around them dissolve. _Back to normal._ He thinks that, realises what they're now talking about, and grins to himself again before wrapping an arm round him and giving him the straightest half hug he can imagine. "NO. Now, go..."


	8. "En un mundo tan irreal..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much!! I hope you like..honestly it's amazing logging back in to see comments and kudos, just ♥ for you!!

_God, how am I having this conversation._ He can’t really believe it, because the striker is so unaffected it’s almost like he’s known for years, or _almost like he actually understands._ The thought is fleeting but sends a little shiver through him, before he’s back to being distracted by the man sat next to him, conversation heading back into the territory he loves so much and away from the red cheeks of anything à la gay. It’s the thing he loves watching Sergio talk about: life. Or football, but both are the same in so many ways. Which may seem weird for someone who seems unable to stop himself marching into a disagreement guns blazing, but off the pitch, and on it in high pressure moments, the things the defender thinks about and the way his head processes everything around him has always fascinated Fernando. He’s completely unaffectable, by most things. The only things he’s ever known to get under his skin are opportunities that will never come back, and they’ve been few. Every other defeat or mistake can always lead to some sort of moment of redemption or re-play, a way to put the demons to rest, whether a missed penalty or a word said too loudly under his breath before he’d grown up a bit, and every single time Fernando can remember, the man sat next to him has faced that with the kind of attitude that in other situations could be trouble, and absolutely killed it. And that amazes him, because Fernando’s head, especially lately, seems to chase him round the house in the darkness with every little moment that he wasn’t as perfect as he’s expected to be. On pitch, off pitch; the missed shots and the ones that were perfect but left him somehow cold; the way people have looked at him. The way Olalla used to look at him, before the way she did the day before. The feeling of the world on his shoulders when honestly, no one made him carry it. But Sese, in all his long haired glory, pink t shirts and blazing flashes of irritation, carries much more than he ever has, and he does it willingly, and he never stoops under it. He never lets it get to him. He knows sometimes you lose, and he knows sometimes you win. He knows what each takes, and he knows how to handle both better than Fernando can even handle an argument with the woman who was supposed to be the love of his life. _But then here you are…_ Fernando can deal with that; you have to. But he also, he realises, can deal with that because it’s always talked about with the person sat next to him. And since he’s got back to Madrid, everything is better in every possible way just because of that. They’ve not seen each other too much, but when they have, everything comes spilling out of him at lightning speed, every detail caught and thought about before being packaged in useful advice and returned to sender. That, he realises, is why this all suddenly happened. _I have Ramos on tap again, and Ramos on tap means you can’t hide from anything._ He nods along with what he’s saying, caught between listening intently and completely distracted by the odd moment of sudden sunshine that seems to light him up, before they’re in the kitchen and he’s allowed to make lunch, quality higher and much quicker than breakfast but that not something he’s going to rub in, and then back on the sofa with another beer and a terrible afternoon movie on the tv in the background, although that’s soon ignored as they start talking again, darkness on the way, somehow, hours flying by and awkwardness completely gone, phone calls ignored, everyone else ignored, a perfect day of teenage regression that they both seem to have needed so badly. And it’s not until dusk is heading in that the few issues become obvious, namely whether he stays or goes home, whether he _can_ go home seeming to Fernando to be the subtext of that decision, and what he’s going to do about Pilar.

His phone rings, again, although this time he knows it’s someone he can’t ignore, organising the week at the club, and he makes his excuses and heads outside, sitting on the low wall and talking, privacy necessary, this time, because of the nature of the business. _Rivalry._

Sergio sits inside and watches, roles reversed this time, not knowing who it is but hoping against hope it’s the club because he can’t imagine the older man wanting privacy for anything else. But then, it could be Olalla. _Maybe he’s taking it back._ But he doesn’t look like he is, and the defender relaxes again until another thought crosses his mind, of the _what if it’s another man_ kind, and he feels panic flush through him as he stares, trying to determine the body language, what he’s saying, what the conversation seems to be about. But then, he realises, if it is another guy, it’s obviously no one incredibly special, because there’s no spark of anything in it, that he can see, anyway. _Not like with me?_ He shakes his head at that thought, before the home phone rings and he reaches out to pick it up, not checking caller ID and not thinking it through, then realising as the phone is reaching his ear that he’s not actually ‘at home’. _But I’d do that at Iker’s house, right? He’d answered my phone? It’s just something that friends do?_ He takes a breath and knows it’s too late to question anyway now, and everyone who knows Fer well enough to have his phone number undoubtedly won’t be _that_ surprised by Sergio Ramos answering it. _Right?_

“Hello?”

_“Oh.”_

He sits bolt upright as he hears who it is, eyes flicking to the caller display and cursing under his breath. _Oops._ “Hi, it’s me.”

_“Of course it’s you.”_

He takes that in, aware the tone is more hostile now than the initial surprise, and wonders what she means by _that_. “Er…yeah, he needed a friend, so…”

_“I’m sure he did. Is he there?”_

“He’s talking to someone from the club. Do you want me to tell him you called?”

_“Will you?”_

“What?”

_“Would you actually tell him, or just pretend you did.”_

“Look, I know you’re upset, but there’s no need to take it out on me. I’m really sorry-”

_“Yeah you’re always sorry. He’s always sorry.”_

“I’m his friend, so I can’t do much else other than continue being that. But I don’t want to fall out with you, Olalla. I’m so sorry-“

_“Cut the bullshit, ‘Sese’. I know.”_

“You know?”

_“I know he’s gay, and I think the rest is pretty obvious.”_

“I know he’s gay, but I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

_“Yeah I’m sure. He’s gay and he’s been cheating on me. You really think I’m that stupid?”_

“You seriously think I’ve been-“

_“Is there anyone who wouldn’t think that? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he talks about you. I always had doubts but since we got back to Madrid you’re just there. All the time. Reminding me how he doesn’t look at me. Reminding me who he’s obviously far much more in love with than he ever was with me. And he didn't exactly deny it.”_

“Don’t be stupid.” He makes it sound reasonably genuine, somehow, above the thundering in his ears, feeling like he's falling through the floor. _What?!_

_“I’m not being stupid. I’m being honest. Which would have saved everyone a lot of hurt. Anyway, I need my stuff back and I’m coming to get it tomorrow when he’s at training. Pass on the message.”_

“Ok…” _WHAT?!_

_“Good. And congratulations, another trophy for Sergio Ramos. Don’t drop this one.”_

The phone goes dead, sudden silence making it all sink in in record time, before Fernando’s coming back through the door, faint smile and eyebrows up in a silent question, before he sees the expression on his face and the phone in his hand and it falls to a frown.

“Ok?”

 _Yeah, great. Do you love me?_ “I answered the phone.”

“I see that…”

 _Deep breath._ “It was Olalla...”


	9. "No sé en qué creer"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH. Hope you like...I'm sorry I'm cruel with cliffhangers ;) ♥
> 
> No offense to Katy Perry or her choreographer ;) [all will become clear]

“Oh.” The slight amusement at the childishly simple explanation for being caught with the phone in his hand suddenly fades, slight swallow as he takes in more of the expression. He wracks his brain over the conversation the day before, everything ending up a blur, wondering if he’d said it or denied it or if it had even been mentioned and he’s reading too much into his face. _Oh fuck. Did I tell her?!_ “Bad?”

 _God I can usually read you so much better than this._ “Not too bad. She, er…didn’t seem happy it was me who answered.”

 _Please no…_ “Oh?”

“Yeah, she, er…seems to think we’re more than friends.” The words coming out of his mouth, suddenly simple to say now there’s a real reason behind why he's saying them, make him flash white hot in the aftermath, panic and internal klaxons screaming, trying to laugh it off to his face. _Fuck, I just said it._

“Oh shit. Sorry!” _Fuck fuck fuck._ He laughs nervously with him and shrugs, hoping the wobble on his feet wasn’t visible. “I, er…I think she just needs to feel like there’s a reason why I left her-“

“Is being gay not enough?”

“I think she just wants to know it’s someone else who made me realise.”

 _What._ “What?”

“You know, someone more special than her…” _The worst phrasing I could have possibly used._ He swallows, hard, and prays he’s less red than he feels.

 _More special than her._ The words seem to hang between them, still staring and awkwardness back, before Sergio is finding himself saying the unthinkable, sudden shock of the phone call and effect of a day’s worth of beer both hitting him at once, voice betraying him slightly. “Am I special?”

 _I’ve even said that before in interviews, right? So completely normal._ “Did you drive over here in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, nobody else did. So I guess if I say I’m gay and a cheat, she’s bound to come to that conclusion.”

 _Yeah, makes perfect sense, because I wish it was true._ “Oh.” He feels the disappointment hit him like a Dutch kick to the chest. _Right, obviously._

 _Please don’t let it be ruined again._ “Is that too weird for you?”

“No...” The defender takes another sip and wills his nerves to calm, before they’re sat next to each other again, staring at the TV, both fidgety and trying to fidget separately, avoiding contact. “That’s ok. I didn’t realise she could think that.”

“Don’t worry, everyone else knows you’re straight.”

“You know I don’t think it’s a bad thing, right?”

“What?”

“You seem to think I’m going to be offended by it but I don’t think being gay is negative. I don’t care.”

“Oh.”

“Although I do look pretty straight, right?” _So we could live here together and no one would know. Because it would be all about my hair cut, and nothing to do with accidentally holding your hand in public, which has almost happened already and scared me half to death._

“Hmm…usually?” He dares a smile to his left and catches the same in return, heart beat slowly calming and red alert fading. _Thank God._ “Despite your best efforts.”

“Pffff. I’m basically a heterosexual model.” _Double bluff._

“Sure…”

“Fine. I know you’re prettier than me, no need to rub it in.”

 _Prettier?!_ He feels himself blush through another sip of beer before letting himself smile. _Ok. Fuck it._ “You think I’m pretty?” He turns and smirks, eyebrows fluttering as ridiculously as possible, following it up with a wink, giddy confidence flowing again.

 _God, don’t._ He laughs at it and then nods, grinning, willing his crotch to behave, everything suddenly back into that zone where he’s sure something’s going to go wrong. _Or right._ “Of course, babe. You’re beautiful." He winks back and puts on his best motherly voice. "And don’t let those boys lead you on!”

“Jaja. No worry of that.” _Babe._

“No?”

“Nope. Don’t think I’ve managed more than twice with the same guy.”

“Whore.”

“Pfff! They always seem to run off.”

“Well, you still have me.” _I have to stop drinking._

“Sadly I do.” They smile at each other again and share a low laugh before it seems to be the unwritten end of the conversation and they’re doing a better job of pretending they're watching the TV, both too aware of how close they are, both taking much too long to relax, Fernando’s brain whirring over the close call, Sergio whirring over Olalla’s words and the complete lack of doubt in her voice. _You really think he feels that for me. And of everyone in the world, I think we know him best._ The idea of it, that honestly he's never considered, is making him itch from head to toe. _And yet I don't even dare just ask._ “Fucking hell.” He’s not really even aware he’s said it out loud, more coming to realise that as he realises he’s being expectantly stared at from his right. _What?_

“What?”

“What?”

“You just said ‘Fucking hell.’”

“What?!”

“What? Don’t look at me like I’m weird, you’re the one drinking my beer swearing at Katy Perry.”

“Eh?!”

The striker looks at him like he’s gone purely insane, as though, Sergio thinks, random late night Katy Perry chat isn’t weirder, before he’s looking at the TV that’s being pointed to and realising. “Oh.” _Fuck you, Katy Perry._

“Yeah. Poor woman.”

“Hmm, not so much…”

“Poor? Or the sympathy?”

“Both.”

“Did she break your heart?”

“Hmm?”

“Did she do something terrible to you at some point.” 

The question, for some reason, suddenly sends him swirling back into the reality of the situation, realising he’s _I think?_ met her, realising she might know who he is, realising that this ‘different world’ they’re accidentally watching on the TV about rich and famous people in LA is actually something they can half relate to, transported back a decade and a half to when he was just a normal kid who would have wanked himself senseless over Katy Perry. _Or Pilar._ “No…” _Maybe I should have just told you the day I met you, before we cared so much about what people would say. Before people would say so much._

“Well…it’s ok. Everyone gets frustrated sometimes. If you need to swear at Katy Perry, swear at Katy Perry. I’m not going to judge you.” The mock serious tone earns him the finger and a mock unimpressed _shut up!_ , the striker feeling the butterflies full force and trying to stop himself grinning, obviously not very successfully. _You’re so perfect when you’re slightly disgruntled._

“Fuck off.”

“Ok, don’t swear at _me_.” _Very disgruntled._

“Sorry, _amor._ ” He grins at him and clinks their bottles together before winking at him and getting to his feet, offering to fetch another beer, anything at all involving a bit of distance between them the ultimate goal. _Otherwise I think I’m going to combust._ “Another?”

“Thanks.” _Shouldn’t even have had the first one._ He watches him go, ironically cheesy and horrifically timed Teenage Dream starting on the TV, this feeling all too much like teenage nerves and paralysis, before sighing to himself and shaking his head. _What else did she tell you._ He’s wondering whether to ask that again and breach that dangerous ground before they’re clinking bottles again and Sergio’s face descends into one of the least impressed faces he’s ever seen, now actually focused on the TV. _Maybe it was Katy Perry after all._ “Change the channel if you want.”

“Hmm. The choreography is shit.”

 _The choreography is shit, but I think we have different priorities tonight._ “Right.”

“Also, I think I’m going to break up with Pilar.”

 _Fuck._ He studies him, still staring at the TV but now obviously not focused on it, taking an aggressively pointed sip of beer and nodding to himself. _Tomorrow? Or..?_ “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He nods again, another sip of beer, and then pulls out his phone for a cab. “Now. It's not going to get any different in a year or 5 so why wait.”

“Ok now?! Because you’ve been drinking-“

“And having more fun with you than I do with her, and not wanting to go home, and lying to her and myself.”

 _What?!_ He’s trying to figure out any kind of response in the swirl of emotions, Sergio’s phone now ringing and him starting to talk to put it in motion, before the defender is uselessly nodding to the person on the line who can’t see him, finishing the call and getting to his feet.

“Can I come back here after?” _And see if I dare tell you this time?_

"Yeah." He answers without thinking, not really able to do that, _those words_ ringing in his ears, like a feather in a hurricane. And he's just about gathered himself together enough to take the leap and say that, before the younger man is at the door and calling over his shoulder, whirlwind of activity suddenly set in motion as the decision seems made.

"Thanks, see you later!"

 _See you later. Drunk, upset, and the middle of the night._ "Fucking hell."

_...again._


	10. "Mi bebe que me salta a los brazos de prisa"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you, honestly you're my sunshine ♥
> 
> Enjoy, sorry if there are errors, I'm so tired! ♥

_“Is there someone else?”_

She didn’t even look surprised. That’s the thing that’s haunting him the most as he’s trying to find the words; thinking about what she must have been living with if she’d already known enough to not be surprised to open the door to see him with that look on his face. It’s strange how only the night before the situation had been normal, happy even. Everything had seemed ok, good enough. And then he’d got that message, and it had laid bare every single thing, and now here _he_ was, in a mirror image but, somehow ironically, a much less fiery one than whatever had happened between Fernando and Olalla. _But then, we’re a lot newer. Maybe that’s it? Or maybe we’re just an even worse fit. Or maybe you love me more than I know._

It’s strange, too, how the outside world saw two happy couples, where honestly, Sergio thinks, the only chance at a happy couple in that combination of four people is him and Fernando. Not that that’s ever likely to happen, although the distant sensible part of himself that’s not too fuelled by beer and misery is aware he’s partly hanging onto that chance, partly here because of that. Sex for sex’s sake to keep the fire burning is one thing, whether it’s cheating or not, but willfully jumping on someone you know to be in a relationship with someone who could almost be a friend herself? The defender knows there’s not a chance in hell that Fernando would do that. Both of them, he realises, somehow ended up hurting them and themselves by trying so hard to do the opposite, and he wonders if you really do get points for trying, because it's becoming increasingly important that you do, before coming back to the moment and clearing his throat. _You already know, and I’m so sorry._

“How honest do you-“

“I want to know.”

 _Right._ “There’s someone else I’m in love with, yes.” He avoids her gaze like it really will turn him to stone, hating that cowardly display of himself almost more than the one that put him here in the first place. “And I’ve cheated on you.”

She nods, words making it real and tears spilling through dark eyeliner, before taking in a big gulp of air and getting to her feet, fingers running under her eyes to catch it. “I thought so but I didn’t w-want to say.”

“I thought you did and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re going to leave me for her-“

“No. I would never have stayed for so long and made it worse-“

“So what? Why is the _game_ suddenly over?”

“Because…” _Because it’s him._ “Fernando left Olalla.”

She looks at him, shock not fading into horror, more a flash of sudden and overwhelming understanding and, somehow, helplessness, before sitting back next to him and taking his breath away completely; arms going round him, eyeliner on his shoulder, holding on and the sudden display of intimacy, or almost, making him give up slightly on his own floodgates and dig his fingers in in return.

"Oh."

_'Oh'._

*

Iker: I feel like it might be you

It’s a weird message to get at midnight, all things considered. It would be weird from anyone, but especially weird from Iker Casillas at 12.08am.

Fernando: Hi, nice to talk to you, long time no talk, how have you been?!

Iker: Hi Fernando, hope you’re ok, great game at Bernabeu etc etc

Iker: Now what’s going on?

Fernando: I split up with Olalla and I’m drinking alone in my house the day before training. Maybe. How about you? 

Iker: Ah, ok. That makes sense.

Fernando: Why what do you know?!

Iker: Sergio is taking the day off tomorrow for personal reasons

Iker: So I assumed it’s you or Pilar

Iker: And Pilar didn’t answer [she never does? :/ I think she hates me]

Fernando: Really?

Iker: Yeah. Are they having problems or is he with you?

_Is he with me._

Fernando: He just went back to split up with her

Iker: You know you don’t always have to be so close

Fernando: ???

Iker: Is splitting up with your girlfriend cool at the moment?

Fernando: I think you’d have to talk to Sese about cool but no, late night talking and expensive whiskey + unhappy relationships = I think we accidentally moved in together, at least temporarily

Iker: Christ

Iker: Right

Fernando: Sleeping with the enemy

Iker: I wouldn’t even be surprised! ;) you ok?

Fernando: Will be, thanks

_Don't._

Iker: Will he?

Fernando: I’ll try my best

Iker: Ok good, because we need to beat you

Fernando: Pffff

Iker: Don’t tell him I asked, he gets mad

Fernando: What about?

Iker: Questions about her and home, just wanted to check he’s/you are ok

Fernando: I think we will be, we still have another bottle left

Iker: Ok well...Do NOT come round here again

Fernando: Jajaja I forgot we did that!! No, promise! 

Iker: I will never forget that you did that and neither will my cream sofa

Fernando: Jajaja God…sorry? :/ Did he ever pay for that?

Iker: What do you think? ;)

Fernando: Ok yeah true

Iker: Jaja. Alright, goodnight mate :) feel better.

Fernando: Goodnight, thanks

Fernando: Oh and he cooked breakfast

Iker: Fire?

Fernando: Minimal

Iker: Wow

*

Driving back is weird. He’d expected Olalla v2, and ended up spilling his heart out to a woman who a big part of him wishes he could love. Because it hurt driving there, but after she reacted like that, driving back hurts a lot more. _You’re perfect, for someone else. And you really, really love me._ That plus the awkward fact that he’s sharing the car with the driver makes a strangely intense but silent mix of emotions, lip bitten sometimes to stop the tears, warmth sometimes spreading through him at the mixture of good memories and freedom he now has. And the knowledge that he’s now going back there, to _him_ , with some of his stuff, and he’s going to stay there. But then he gets dragged back into doubt and horror, the agonising choice between being around him as much as he can be and thinking he might have to see him as little as possible to try and turn these feelings off. And that’s the state he’s in by the time a concerned face opens the door to let him back in, their eyes meeting and most of the important stuff said that way, without words, arms going round him to pull him inside the house and senses overdosing on Fernando Torres yet again. _Stay away, I really thought that could be possible?_

He’s tired, too, dead tired, and slightly drunk still. Terrified those two things are going to make him regret doing or saying something stupid. So he makes his excuses, he takes his bag to the spare room he’s offered, he’s aware the perfection of the relaxed day between them has gone, and he’s just about closing the door and saying goodnight before he loses it, her face and his face swirling in his mind, neither one of them really going to give him what he wants, everything suddenly raining down like a pile of bricks. He takes it, feels each one hit separately almost, every bit of dishonesty and every moment he’s let her down, every time he’s almost given things away with Fernando, every time he knows he’ll have to not do that, from now on. Every day, every minute and hour. And the way she reacted.

And that’s how he ends up curled in bed, not even undressed, grabbing onto the pillow and obviously the door open just a crack wide enough to make him visible, although he didn’t know, but there must be a reason why the bed is suddenly moving and the light from the hall grows brighter as the door opens and then leaves them in darkness, nothing said, the figure sat on the edge of the bed for a minute before moving further over, fingers prising the defender’s hands from the pillow and finding that same position from the night before but in reverse, confusion and questions whirling slower and slower until he’s only aware of the steady heartbeat near his ear, the fingers playing little patterns on his back, and the sudden epiphany of relief it comes with.

 _I made the right decision._ He squeezes the striker almost automatically under the covers and can’t stop the little satisfied sigh that escapes him as he squeezes back. _Because somehow I have to find something like this, somewhere. Else. But this...._ And of course, like every time, he ignores the _you already did_ that his brain fires back, responding with the best _No, I mean something that will work_ he can muster.

_I guess we’re having breakfast together for a while, at least. Maybe it will teach me how to live around you instead of feeling like the opposite because I can’t have you._

“Did you do it?”

 _I did._ "Yeah...."


	11. "Que por instantes de placer, ponen su vida a temblar..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, THANK YOU! ♥
> 
> Second, we will be rewinding in the next chapter so... ;)
> 
> Espero que os guste... ♥

Sergio goes to sleep first this time. And Fernando lies there, listening to him breathe, trying to figure out how he ever managed to cross the room and curl around him in the first place, before he feels a lump in his throat and realises why, scared his fingers are digging in a bit too much, knowing he really can’t afford waking him up and being forced to explain. The night before and the day before was painful. The barrel of the gun he’s looking down is painful. Being so close to the person he wants and not having him is painful. But ultimately, he realises as he’s allowed to lie there and let the other man’s presence invade his senses, this hurts so much more. It did the second he opened the door and saw his face, because it’s not him in the most pain anymore, and he’s powerless to really change it. He can do everything he can think of, everything up until that line and maybe, like now, a few things over it, but he can’t change the look on his face, which just seemed, strangely, to be asking why. Like “ _I did everything right or I tried to, why isn’t it perfect?_ ” And Fernando has no answer for that. He can’t really believe that yesterday everything was ‘normal’ and now he’s got his arms round him in a spare bedroom in his house. And that he came straight over, without even a word. And how they went to sleep, and breakfast, and all the tiny moments he wishes he could stop trying to read more into. _I don’t know how long you’re staying, but I really don’t mind if every single night of it is like this._ He can’t resist, as the defender frowns slightly in his sleep and murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss into his hair and then holding his breath for at least 10 seconds after, terrified his eyes are going to blast open in horror and it’s all going to be over, then relaxing again and biting his lip at the sudden bliss and torture as the younger man’s arm pulls him even closer, face buried in the fabric on his chest and breathing steady, completely asleep and subconscious, and still holding on. _You know, if you want, you can open your eyes and smile, and tell me you know what you’re doing. Tell me you’re doing it on purpose. Tell me your secrets are the same as mine._ He tries to push that to the back of his mind, trying to bring anything else to the forefront, before deciding all he can do is match his breathing to the now-calm figure in his arms and just…wait. Whether for sleep or morning, whichever shows up first and ruins the moment. _Or maybe we wake up together tomorrow. Maybe I don’t run away. Maybe I don’t get chance. And maybe that’s going to be the worst thing, because you’re going to be a bit embarrassed and leap away like I’m an electric fence._ He shifts slightly to fit them together better, forcing himself to relax, and risks another kiss into his hair as the younger man snuggles into him, finally crossing from nerves into acceptance that whatever happens, it’s better to enjoy this now, as it is, without living in fear of anything. _We used to do that, didn’t we? Live without fear._ It’s weird, almost funny, how everything’s ended up. From glory to horror to glory to walking off a Brasilian pitch with tears in their eyes, Sevilla and Real and Atleti, Liverpool, Chelsea, AC Milan and Atleti…South Africa, Europe, Brazil. The whole world at their feet, and it comes down to a small double room in Madrid that he’s not even decorated yet, with two half broken hearts and absolutely nothing about tomorrow even half-visible to the half-drunk naked eye they’re both relying on to guide them back to something akin to personal success. _But that’s ok, because you know, now. I don’t have to hide, from one person at least. And I’m back here, and that means you’re going to actually be here. And more than that, actually here. Maybe even in this room, at least for a while._ He finally drifts off with that on his brain and a half smile able to play on his face, unable to resist another kiss into his hair, finally relaxing and letting himself float off in the bliss of the moment, unaware of the eyes that open once he has and the lips that hover close to his, sure sure _sure_ of what they felt and terrified they didn’t. 

*

 _So stupid._ He makes it another 20 paces before stopping to lean on his knees. _So stupid. And it could have been so good. And now, I’m probably going to go back to find a note and an empty room and I’m going to have to do this on my own._ The thought makes him stand up again, athlete or not the pace and distance he’s already run taking their toll, before he stares up at the sky and sighs, eye closing for a second, the memory of their lips touching, the morning stubble against his skin, the look of absolute shock on his face soon coming back and making him snap them open again and focus on the spot he’s decided he’s going to run to. _Far enough away to take long enough for you to be able to leave in peace, basically._

*

Sergio: I’m at Fernando’s house

Iker: Yeah I know. I’m off to training.

Sergio: Don’t rub it on

Sergio: In, don’t rub it in

Iker: I’m not rubbing it in and I won’t rub it on you unless you ask me to ;)

Iker: Did Fernando rub it on you?

Sergio: Fuck off

Iker: Harsh

Sergio: Fair

Iker: You basically live together now. I want to be best man

Sergio: Can we not joke about this today

Iker: You brought it up

Sergio: I just replied to you?

Iker: I sent that last night but I hear it was an accurate reply for then too. I spoke to him. Sorry about Pilar, mate. You ok?

Sergio: Oh. Oops. Not great

Sergio: It got worse though

Iker: Tell me about it

Sergio: Why what happened?!

Iker: No I just mean ‘tell me about what happened’

Sergio: OJ

Iker: Fuck! OJ Simpson?! Lock the doors and wait for help!

Sergio: I meant 'Oh'

Iker: Yeah I know jaja

Sergio: I know you know and I want to kill you

Iker: Irony

Sergio: Fuck off

Iker: Harsh

Sergio: Fair

Iker: Trying to lighten the mood

Sergio: I know. ;) don’t really want to talk about it all at the moment but I really appreciate you understanding

Iker: I know. That’s why I do :) feel better, get ready, come back and together we will destroy your boyfriend

Sergio: Ok you asked for this

Sergio: I can trust you with my life, yeah?

Iker: I might make a joke but yes 

Sergio: I know. So…here goes. You should stop making those jokes because we left our girlfriends for the same reasons. We’re gay. Not together. He doesn’t know I’m gay. He told me he was. It’s a mess.

Sergio: And then this morning we kissed

Sergio: And now he’s literally run off in all his Nine Fitness branded glory and left me in his house

Sergio: So enjoy training…

He watches the name _Iker_ flash up on his phone over and over again as he tries to force him into answering, Sergio sat in the garden with a beer and a cigarette, realising that missing training is bad anyway and replacing it with smoking and drinking is definitely worse but not really caring, wondering if that was the stupidest thing he’s ever done, or whether a straight man might help the situation with a different angle of advice, before growling at the sky and finally turning the phone off, distant part of his brain amused at the different reaction faces he can imagine having crossed the goalkeeper’s face.

_One person I want to talk to, one person who won’t call._


	12. "Labios Compartidos"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well as you can maybe tell from the title I officially gave up on trying to make this fic only relate to one song and then end. Yeah ;) my worst one was a 12 chapter fic that ended up 120 long so it could be worse? ;) but I'm not done yet and won't be done before I run out of lyrics that fit so I give up now and I'm branching out :D slightly...
> 
> Thank you so much, I hope you like it and the frustration isn't too bad? ;) ♥ please keep letting me know, I'm a needy writer and seriously seriously, you're just filling me with joy :D
> 
> The first part is 'now', then after he's back it's the flashback from earlier in the morning...

_Well I have to go back at some point. If nothing else, it is my house._ He’s been running in the right direction now for a while at least, finally feeling some kind of sense come back, figuring out what he’s going to say. How he’s going to say it. _Assuming he’s still there._

*

It’s been a long time by the time he gets up off the floor and goes back inside, downing the last of the cold coffee he made for himself before he let it all sink in and lost interest in it, and he at least decides that there is one thing he can do in the meantime; getting dressed into something more normal, less like a teenage boyfriend stealing his clothes after staying over unexpectedly. But then that reminds him, staring down at the bag he’s brought over, that this situation isn’t one he can run away from easily, because he’s already made that step and told him he’s going to stay. And now not staying would raise questions, and questions aren’t something he has any answers for at the moment. And then that reminds him he just casually texted Iker Casillas that he was gay and possibly on the verge of falling out with or fucking his best friend, the defender growling with frustration at the ceiling and making it downstairs in time to be making another coffee by the time the sound of the door opening makes his heart and almost the cup hit the floor in time. _Right well here we go…_

*

“Hey.” _Sorry I ruined everything._

“Hi.”

“I, er…” The striker trails off and shrugs slightly, lost for how to even begin, before ending up leaning on the kitchen counter staring down at it, silence overwhelming and so rare between them, this kind at least, that it just seems to magnify everything. He’s about to try something else, scared to look up and face whatever face his friend is making at the whole situation, before he feels his breath catch and smiles despite himself as an espresso gets pushed slowly into his immediate vision, then able to look up and catch his eye. _Oh._

“Did you have a good run?”

Fernando stares at him for a few seconds, Sergio slightly smiling at him, going slightly pink in the pause due to knowing absolutely what the other is thinking about, and thinking about that himself, before the striker breaks into a grin and nods, knocking it down and putting the cup back down, taking a deep breath, and then starting to talk. _It’s just Sergio. No matter what you’ve done, it’s still ‘just’ Sergio._

*

 _God, I know I don’t talk to you all that much but if you’re up there can I have this forever?_ Fernando wakes up first, again, and spends the first few minutes worried to open his eyes, almost, worried to give any clue that he’s awake, worried he’ll give anything away and have to own up to having done whatever it was on purpose, before he eventually ends up squinting into the sun that’s streaming through the window where they left the curtains with a gap the night before, lighting up the man opposite him on the pillow, making him glow like some horrificly cheesy angel comparison that, Fernando thinks, isn’t half wrong. _Sometimes maybe more devil, but we’ll let that go for now._ He lets himself smile at that, taking his hand back gently from where the younger man has half kidnapped it in the night, and gently manages a stretch without waking him up, plan definitely early escape, as blissful as this is, because-

“Urggghh.” The eye furthest from the pillow cracks open. “Morning.”

 _Fuck._ “Morning…”

“God don’t look so smug.” The defender moves face down into the pillow, grinning, and groans again, hand snaking out to half push that beautiful angelic bastard of a face further away, words muffled. “You look so fucking awake.”

“Well I am fairly awake.” He feels his heart do a little dance at how normal the other man seems to be, and then splutters slightly through a shocked grin as the hand covers his mouth before giving up and going back under the covers, the younger player snuggling into the sheets like he’s 5 years old lost on the Arctic tundra. _Oh my God no one with a beard should ever look this cute._ “Did you drink water before you went to sleep-“

“No.”

“Did you-“

“No to everything.” He cracks one eye open again, that alone enough to convey that addictive spark that Fernando is, he’s past trying to deny, completely in love with, and shakes his head slightly. “Drink drink break up with girlfriend drink some more and then sleep.”

“Well then that explains-“

“Yes, THANK YOU.” Another grin into the pillow. “I know, I know. I would just prefer it if you didn’t look like someone came in here and styled you in the middle of the night.”

“Jajaja. Well actually, they did. A team of 40 people, working all night…” He smiles at the laugh through closed eyes across the pillow and has to stop himself curling round him, nothing at all ever having been quite that much effort before. “And still I’m kind of average.”

“Average?!” The outrage at that actually makes the younger man half sit up, looking down at him in abject disgust. “Don’t even try it.”

“Are we really arguing about this first thing in the morning-“

“Shhh.” He collapses back into the pillow, grinning and nodding again, hand again lazily managing to cover the striker’s mouth and somehow accurately despite doing it blind, before laughing to himself at the splutter it creates and theatrically wiping his hand on the duvet. “Urgh thanks.”

“I was talking and you put your hand on my face, I’m not taking any responsibility for that.”

“You should have seen it coming.”

“Hmm.” _God this is bliss._ “I feel like people have said that to you before.” There’s a low belly laugh muffled by the pillow before the defender’s hand appears again, this time with the middle finger held up.

“Shhhhh.”

“Again…”

“Ok seriously…” The younger man turns over now, face out the pillow and suddenly seeming so close to Fernando, still a bit bleary eyed but now at least mostly smiling instead of groaning. “Don’t be cruel in the morning.”

 _Yeah, I’m the cruel one. Lying there looking at me like that._ “Sorry.”

“At least sound like you mean it.” Another grin.

He’s not sure why he does it, maybe he’s just relaxed too much and temporarily lost his mind, but the striker leans forward until their faces are incredibly close, eyes wide and mouth slightly pouting, and then nods. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t supposed to leave them hovering so close together, but he can’t move back, somehow, and the expression he’s looking at doesn’t even look like it wants him to, and they stay there suspended in time for a few split seconds of elevated heart rates and nervous breathing before Fernando suddenly feels himself snap and leans forward, pressing their lips together, feeling electricity shoot through him and letting it linger before he’s aware there’s almost no reaction from the man in front of him, hand moving round him almost automatically but nothing else, and he pulls back as the regret starts to crash down, eyes closed and wondering what the hell he’s just done, hands taken back and split second of pause before he’s out the bed and out the door with a _sorry_ echoing over his shoulder, changing out of the night before’s clothes and making it all the way out to fresh air before the defender’s had chance to do anything more than vaguely yell after him. _What the fuck did I just do._


	13. "Si de veras me quieres como yo te quiero.."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the non World Cup spanish version of La La La by Shakira :) "if you really love me as I do you..."
> 
> Italics in the middle is a flashback :)
> 
> I'm so so sorry it was ages. :/ I can't write this without having proper time for it because I don't want to ruin it :/ ♥ thanks so much so far...I really hope you like it?
> 
> More this weekend, I promise! Just....thank you ♥ for the ray of sunshine in a relatively cloudy moment of my life!!

“I just need you to promise that you’re not going to walk out-“

“What?”

“You have to promise. You have to promise me you’re not going to walk out angry or…upset or blaming me for anything because I have to be honest…” _Finally, right?_ “And honestly, I’m really sorry I did that-“

“Did what?”

“Don’t do that. You know ‘what’.”

 _I do, yeah. But I’m not sure I understand a word you’re saying._ The defender is frozen, watching and listening, hope crashing into laughable despair and back, even only after the few words Fernando has said, no idea what to do now, no idea what he’s about to hear next, no idea if the rushing of the blood in his veins could get quiet enough to let him listen. _I don’t even know._ He stares at him a few split seconds further, that realisation crazy enough, before managing to remember to take a breath and let him carry on. _I don’t even know what I should be seeing as common sense. Common sense that you kissed me or common sense that you ran-_

“I’m sorry, especially after what you know about me now…I don’t want to fuck anything up because you’re…” _Everything._ “…special to me. And for one moment of stupidity-“

“Was it stupid?” _Yes, find your voice. Say the worst possible thing. Fantastic._

“What?!”

Sergio studies him, trying to remember how to do that as a normal person, someone who hadn’t been doing it too much for years and reading hopefully between every line, before he finally just puts down his cup, looks at it, takes a breath, and then locks eyes with the striker again, that shooting through him like wildfire. “Was it a moment of stupidity or…” _Or should I move my stuff into the master bedroom._ “…or not? And don’t keep expecting me to run off because I’m not going to-“

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?!” 

“Don’t.” _Don’t? Make me say it? Make promises you might not keep?_ “Just…I’m sorry it happened and-“

“Why?”

 _Why?!_ “Why?!”

“Why.” 

_Why._ “Because it’s that classic thing, isn’t it? The straight guy worried his gay friend will now try and jump on him-“

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Oh.” The pace of the conversation, like it’s in some weird suspended reality, interruptions and words spilling out in between pauses that are much longer in his head than reality, is making Fernando more and more frustrated, and lost, and almost ready to just yell at him. _You have to give me more than this to go on._ “Well…I am. Because honestly, there were two important people in my life, and one of them I think has gone for good. The other one-“

“Me?”

“Yes, you?”

“Right…”

“The other one keeps fucking interrupting…”

The defender purses his lips slightly and raises his eyebrows, maybe cool and calm enough on the outside but secretly in the pits of hellfire, and nods, internal monologue screaming. _Ok then…carry on…_

“And…” _Now I have the space to say it and I have no idea how to._ “I just can’t afford to lose both of you. Ok?”

“You won’t lose me, don’t worry.” _We got so weird. Where did all these awkward pauses come from._ “Sounds like she doesn’t think so, anyway…”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Don’t. I’m sorry she thinks that-“

“I don’t care what she thinks.” He gives himself the internal countdown and then watches himself pull the pin from a distance, like third person, more and more sure and more and more giddy and terrified by the possibility, and terrified of his suspicions being wrong, white hot and sweating from just being this close to him in the kitchen and this close to daring to say anything about it, before he jumps off that last cliff and lets out a breath. “I just care whether it’s true or not. And I’m not, _whatever you say now_ , going to go anywhere, or think any differently about you.” _3, 2, 1…_ “You’re not the only one who just broke up with their girlfriend, you know…” _Read into it, read into it…_

“I don’t think we should be talking about this.”

“Fernando…”

The way he says his name makes him shiver, he’s sure, visibly. _God._ “I don’t want to make it worse. I think it’s pretty clear how I feel so I think we should try and keep some distance until-“

“It’s clear how you feel? Really?”

“I kissed you.” _You’re not running._

“And then ran away.”

“You’re my straight friend and you froze.”

“I did freeze.”

“Sese…”

 _God._ “You have feelings for me?” The way their eyes lock, so serious, almost too serious for too long now, weird and silent and tension amping up by the second, makes them both take in a little breath, the words just said so suddenly, like they’re not the biggest thing either of them have been living with for years.

 _If not now, then when. If not him, then who. 3, 2, 1…_ “Yes.”

*

_“I’ve never s-seen…I..I’ve n-never seen ANYONE less IMPRESSED!” The defender giggles and bites his lip in a poor attempt at guilt. “And I know we made a mess but we’re his FRIENDS and it should be ok?”_

_“I think it will be ok.” Fernando smiles sideways at him over the sofa and then looks down at the carnage again. “In a few years, it’ll be fine.”_

_“YEARS.” The defender seems to look around them again and realise the extent of the damage. ‘Let’s go and see Iker’, I said. ‘He is a fun guy’, I said. ‘His furniture won’t be ruined’, I hoped. “OOPS.”_

_“Jejejejeje.” The striker turns to him and holds up his beer to clink it with Sergio’s before grinning again and nodding at the unspoken mixture of glee and guilt on his friend’s face, before at some point they obviously go to sleep and he ends up nestled into that glorious mixture of aftershave, smoke and expensive but terrible taste in clothing, Sergio’s longer hair something he didn’t know at the time some of him would miss. ‘I don’t love him’, I said. ‘I’ll get over it’, I said. ‘I won’t keep crossing that line and making it worse’, I said. “Night.”_

_“Night night.” The drunk younger player whacks a kiss into his hair and knocks the beer over for good measure, too asleep to realise and really not much extra consequence gained, before shifting slightly and sighing contentedly. ‘I don’t love him’, I said. ‘I’ll get over it’, I said. ‘I won’t keep crossing that line and making it worse’, I said. “Until tomorrow…”_

*

 _Oh my God._ The Sevillano feels like he’s dropped through the floor. _Oh my God._ And as much as he dreamt of this moment and imagined fireworks and glory and desperate kisses suddenly ripping each other apart, the reality is a normal kitchen in Madrid, over lukewarm coffee and so many nerves he can’t believe he’s still on his feet, everything a blur. A blissful blur, a scared blur, and a disbelieving one. And he’s still not responded, he’s frozen like he was upstairs when those perfect lips found his, however briefly, and he knows he has to say something. He can see the other man itching with the need to break the moment, or run, again, or take it back. Their eyes still locked, expressions almost unchanged although neither can focus on anything except the eyes staring into their own. _Oh my God._

“Sorry.”

 _Sorry. You’re saying sorry._ “I-“

“I know it’s probably the last thing you want-“

“No, y-you.”

“What?”

He wishes he could have come up with better words or less cheesy ones, and wishes he could find the strength in this half-psychedelic vision to just walk over there and say it like he’s rehearsed 19 million times in his head, but what comes out he hopes at least says enough for now, mouth dry and heart hammering, world seemingly unsteady around him. “I-I want you too.”

And Fernando actually has to steady himself on the edge of the worktop, eyes still on Sergio’s, voice slightly more hoarse, vision swimming and shock running through him, disbelief throwing the words around in his brain and malfunctioning time and again in trying to make them say anything other than what he thinks they really are trying to say. _Don’t joke._ And he knows he isn’t, because the defender has gone so pale Fernando thinks he’d be invisible in his home shirt, but the unlikeliness of what he’s just heard is too much. _“What.”_

The word is quiet, but it at least seems to wake the Real player up enough to regain control of his own breathing and stay on his feet, both of which he knows he can’t ignore forever, or even if he wants to see this conversation out with any dignity. _When you say ‘I didn’t mean it quite like that…’ Right? You will, right?_ “I left her because you left Olalla.” _It’s too late now anyway._ That knowledge, knowing how far into the enemy territory of the conversation they already are, suddenly courses through him and he feels himself stand up again, properly, not needing to lean on anything, and almost shrugs at him as he says it. “I just thought if there was a chance…”

“A chance.”

 _Stop looking at me like that if you’re not willing to do it forever._ “That you felt like I do.”

“Like _you do_.” Fernando sways on his feet again, breath quick and heart quicker, willing and praying the next words to be what he knows now will be the crunch point of every minute they’ve ever spent together. _Nothing at stake, nothing at all-_

 _I missed that penalty._ “I never thought there was a chance.” _But I scored the second. Because I at least made myself try._ “But I love you.”


	14. "Tú eres mi amor"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the original song for this and the next one :)
> 
> THANK YOU!! So much. :) ♥ the feedback makes my life!
> 
> I hope you like this!

_You love me._ Fernando stares, and stares, and stares, watching the expression on the defender’s face change from pure shock at having said it to some kind of hopeful expectance, _and yeah, I guess given how I kissed you, you’re the one who’s less shocked._ “Wh-what?!”

“I love you. And I tried not to, and I tried – and managed – to find a woman who almost made me think I could love her like I love you. But then you came back, and everything’s so fucked. I don’t know if you get that, but you were like a part of a separate life, and now suddenly you’re not. You’re right here. And I love you, and I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I don’t know how you feel and I don’t know if you kissed me just because I was there and you’re feeling-“

“Stop, stop, stop. WHAT?!” His head is spinning, caught between the bliss of the words and what they might mean, and the feeling of surely, this not being something that’s _actually_ happening. To him, right now, in his kitchen, after he thought he’d fucked everything up.

_Maybe expecting you to come over here and say ‘me too’ like we’ve always known and then just kiss me was a bit too much. Maybe it was just because I was there._ “I left Pilar because she’s not you. Because I figured I have a better chance if it’s behind no one’s back. If it’s not a secret anymore.”

“You’re gay.” The way he says it, somewhere between disbelief and flat acceptance, makes Sergio flinch slightly. 

“Yes…”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

_Shit._ “I needed to know if there was a chance you felt anything for me because I don’t know if I could live with you knowing I’m gay and not knowing that the person who made me realise is you. I’m sorry.” _God, I am sorry. I think I got this pretty wrong._ He feels his heart start to implode at that, still watching the striker intently for any sign of movement towards him, part of him still hanging on the hope, before he manages to pull his eyes away from the wide brown ones still widened at him, and starts to head outside, having to move closer to move past him, and then stops as the striker moves in front of him. _Please, babe._ He dares to look up again, expression in Fernando’s eyes suddenly different, spark of hope, still disbelieving, but at least obviously letting himself listen to the words and understand them, before the he puts his hand on Sergio’s chest to stop him, briefly, the touch shivering through both of them and their eyes locking again.

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah, I’m serious.” The words sound far away and the Real player is surprised he’s even managed to get them out, breath nervously held as the hand on his chest leaves a tiny traced pattern before it disappears, leaving them stood close, too close, staring and waiting. _Someone has to be brave. Is it because you don’t believe me? Or because you’re trying to convince yourself you feel like that because you’d rather not sleep alone?_ “If there’s a question in your brain right now, don’t. Honestly, if you’re having to ask yourself whether you feel-“

He loses the words completely, he would have said stolen by the striker’s lips but the sound dies before they connect, shock and anticipation in those final few moments instantly making them stop, reality suspended for a second as his consciousness catches up and the feel of _those_ lips on his sinks in, before he’s opening his mouth tentatively and letting the striker in, tongues finding each other and both taking a couple of clumsy steps to steady themselves against the kitchen unit as the world starts to spin, Fernando pressed against it and letting his hands go round the younger player and tangle slightly in the fabric of his t shirt, that making Sergio finally let go and believe it, both of them moaning as it deepens and the nerves disappear, the defender’s hands wandering through that glorious shock of blonde hair and both sets of legs trembling slightly as they moan into it. _Somehow I knew you’d kiss me like this._

Fernando can’t believe it for the first few seconds. He doesn’t know where that flash of bravery came from, doesn’t know how they ended up like this. But now, his head and senses are filled with nothing more than the feeling of so much relief, disbelief about what may happen next, yes, but relief, even if it only proves temporary, of finally feeling the right stubble scratch his skin, the right hands tangling in his hair, the right tongue exploring his mouth and playing with his. The intensity of the feeling would have been enough to steal his breath on its own, even without the lips capturing his and taking it with them. And already, the arousal is obvious, and any doubts he may have had about the defender’s experience in this realm start to melt as he’s pushed rougher against the kitchen unit, crotches coming into contact and making them both groan slightly, Sergio’s hands then moving around him and under the t shirt to find the cool skin underneath, fingers splayed and digging in, Fernando gaining the confidence from that to do the same and explore, the hum of approval and little low growl as he teases his fingertips under the waistline of the defender’s boxers and jeans leaving him nibbling his lip, before they both sense the moment at the same time and pull themselves apart, panting and staring, eyes black and questioning on both, lips slightly swollen and glistening at each other.

“Bedroom.”

It’s Sergio, now, newly confident with having got the confirmation, who manages the word and breaks the mini, blissful paralysis, and Fernando finds himself nodding, both of them starting to grin and let it sink in as they start to move in a messy whirlwind of kisses and groans, t shirts off before they’re at the bottom of the stairs and that making them pause again, eyes wandering and fingers following, tracing the lines and tattoos they’ve both secretly mapped out so well in hidden, stolen glances that they’re now finally allowed to touch.

“You mean it.”

The defender nods, pulling him up the first few stairs before they slam into the wall again in another desperate kiss, before finally they’re tangled on the bed and around each other, somehow ending up in the room Sergio slept in the night before, groaning and grabbing at the last few items of clothes, smiles in between as it’s really starting to become real, the striker then stopping and cupping his face in front of him, realizing he never said it out loud.

“I love you too. I have done forever.”

The difference, watching that sink in and replace the nervous _I don’t know what will happen after this_ in Sergio’s eyes, makes him feel like his chest is going to explode, no one, he’s sure, ever having looked at him like that before, before they exchange the tiniest smile and nod and both snap again, the defender’s hips grinding down on his and making him growl back. _I’m going to be really angry if this is a dream._ He lets his hands wander where they want and trace the muscles in the younger player’s back before they cup his ass and pull them together, giving them both another jolt of rougher friction and sending another little cacophony of noises through the room, before he nods into the silent question the defender manages to pull away to ask, both hypnotized by their expressions for another split second. _But then even if it’s a dream, it’s worth it._


	15. "Inevitable"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title - Shakira. ;)
> 
> So sorry for the wait!!! I've been so busy, and also didn't want to ruin this by rushing or writing it when my eyes were closing! :/
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for all the reactions; I can't explain how amazing you are, thank you!! I hope you like this! ♥
> 
> And now...I hear someone scored a penalty tonight? ;) here we go...

It’s not like he imagined and dreamt and yearned for, that much is for sure, he knows, because he never managed to imagine every little detail of the here and now; this reality that’s now somehow his overloading his senses; almost enough to make the room spin. Although it isn’t one moment, it’s many, a string of perfect little snapshots all threaded together with each little touch or noise he feels or gives, still trapped under Sergio and never having been happier about giving up his freedom. It’s slowed, since the first few desperate moments of trying to claw at each other, and somehow now he’s tangling his fingers in Sergio’s hair as they kiss, slow and deep and more communicative without words than he’s ever been with anyone else with them, tongue of the defender going between invading, playing and soothing, lip nibbled sometimes, both impossibly turned on but somehow still patient, letting it slowly sink in and their fingertips explore each other, earning little noises that give them both goosebumps. And where it was blissful when they first said it, and then somehow desperately serious, it’s now punctuated by odd moments of eye contact that flash with a mixture of wonder and complete calm knowing, both finding it hard to believe but somehow inevitable at the same time, and they’re grinning at each other like idiots when they stop and pant at each other, eyes locked together again immediately, Sergio’s hand moving lazily through the shock of blonde hair on Fernando’s head as they stare, lost in it completely. _Wow._

“Hey.”

It would sound weird and out of context to most people, but the striker understands the moment perfectly, all the little barriers they’ve both put up for years now gone, suddenly able to say that and say it with nothing else behind it; a tiny word to say something, Fernando thinks, blushingly, like _hello, this is the you I wanted to be looking at before._ Because he knows, if the change in him is anything like the change in the defender, it’s like there’s been a miniature, private sunrise between them since the words spilled out of his mouth and he watched Sergio light up, and they lie there for a few torturously blissful seconds before sharing the tiniest nod and smile again, although subtle, now, some of the seriousness back as Sergio’s mouth draws a line of kisses down his neck, sucking and beard scratching, like striking little matches against Fernando’s skin, until his hand is back in his hair again and guiding his head down the tantalizing journey from neck to collarbone to chest, lower and lower and blissful enough already to have him writhing around and breath gasping out in little puffs of desperation that get worse and worse, or better and better, as the defender nears his cock and the idea of it actually happening seems to short circuit Fernando’s brain, everything flashing bright white as he tries to process even the remote possibility even, never mind the arriving probability, and finally letting out a low growl and clenching one hand in the sheets and the other in the Real player’s hair as he circles his tip with his tongue, tentative almost until the sound Fernando makes sends shivers down his spine and makes his own arousal almost painfully desperate, more than enough encouragement to free him of nerves and follow his usually very good instincts, reducing the striker to desperation fairly quickly and with good reason, pausing when he feels the chest in front of him heave a little too much, breath hitching and control on the way out, locking eyes with him and feeling his own breath leave him at the midnight eyes staring down at him, reflecting the spark of evil mischief he knows his own are probably on fire with, taking a moment for both to let the reality wash over them again before Fernando lets his head drop back into the pillow and surrenders to it as the defender swallows him down and holds him down, the striker growling at the ceiling and swearing as he comes down his throat a few desperate seconds later, noise not one he’s ever heard himself make before, chest heaving and reality fading in and out as that face comes back into focus above his own and he manages to open his eyes and look back at him again, moment suspended in time for just long enough as Sergio’s forehead leans down on his own, eyes closed, and the defender’s hand cups his face. “Love you. I know I already said it but-“

“Keep saying it.”

“Love you.”

“Still…”

“Ok.” They both smile, stealing the last few seconds of calm, before the older man is tasting the remnants of himself on Sergio’s tongue and listening to the younger man come undone as he wraps his hand around him, teasing and only teasing, for now at least, until his hand manages to open the top drawer of the bedside table in the haze and he takes one last look at the black pupils focused on his before the first lubed finger traces his crack and does its own tease. _Still. Always._


	16. "Amantes"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry! My life has been a bit of a mess lately and motorsport all kicked off again! But finally there is more, thank you SO MUCH for everything, honestly it means a LOT.
> 
> I hope you like it! ♥

_Wow._ The eyes burning into his, Sergio’s face flushed and eyes locked together as he pushes inside, is that last little piece of the jigsaw he’s been failing to fit together for too long. The way it feels is the way he’s imagined it would feel, somehow, like it’s all been a cruel joke at their expense when really, it was too obvious for too long that there wasn’t going to be anyone else quite as good a fit. In the morning it makes him think back on all those now quite seedy fucks he’s whiled away his evenings on, too many moments spent with his eyes squeezed shut trying to convince himself completely that the person doing this to him is the same one as is really there now. The first few thrusts are gentle enough, both trying to find that balance and fingers lacing together on either side of Fernando’s head as they dig in and relax into each other, smiles starting to appear in the odd moment they can each focus and not completely lost to it, bliss of it happening as well as the bliss of what’s happening making it seem too good to be true, before the sharp snap back to reality they come back to each time as Sergio hits his prostate and the noise groans through the air between them; there to remind them of how true it is, this time, thrusts deeper and making them both grunt at each other until Fernando's grunts start to become more moans, the sound rolling down the muscles in the Sergio's back like a massage.

The defender is captivated by the way he looks when he’s like this – everything still somehow perfect despite the hair stuck to his forehead and sheen of sweat on both of them. Still a model, still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even when he’s being pulled apart and put back together. And the feel of it, knowing what they’re doing, is almost enough to make his eyes roll back in his head and give up, self restraint never a strong point, but he holds himself back, just, as he reads the signals and smashes their lips together again, the older man closer and closer, neck muscles taught and copper tang passing between them as his hips push them together, before Fernando’s hand squeeze his suddenly as he tenses and the defender’s name gets thrown across the room, other hand wrapped around him and pulling him over the edge, where he follows a few seconds later as he finally lets go and moans into his mouth, both collapsing in a sweaty heap and lying there for a few seconds, starstruck almost, before they both feel the fear come back, paralysing for a second, before Sergio nuzzles into his neck, that all the confirmation needed for both, and Fernando’s hand runs through his hair, pulling him in; face to face across the pillow, hypnotised, saying everything they want to without needing words, ending in a goodnight kiss that steals their breath completely.

“I love you. You know? I mean it.”

Fernando nods at him, movement on the pillow moving them both slightly, before cupping his face and underlining it with a peck on the lips. “I love you too.”

The Real player’s eyes seemed to spark again slightly as he hears it, more blissfully stoned than on fire for the last few minutes, wondering briefly if in those moments his eyes look anything like the ones he’s looking into, before he closes his eyes and leans their foreheads together, hand running down his back. “Tomorrow-“

“No tomorrow.”

“But-“

“Sese, open your eyes.” The striker watches them flutter open and his breath catches again as the little pilot light of affection lights up again. “We can worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.”

“You’re still-“

“I’ve loved you forever. A few hours sleep isn’t going to change anything.” _Well maybe it will._ “Or if it does, only for the better.”

“I want to wake up next to you.”

“Now are we talking about tomorrow or about forever?”

“I guess everything has to start somewhere.”

“I think it already did…” He says that lower, breath hot on the defender’s cheek and backed up with another kiss that makes his chest implode, before smiling slightly shyly but cheekily at the cheese and finding his hand under the sheets, fingers laced together again and heartrate skyrocketing as he waits for the response, smile all that's needed. “And I don’t want it to stop.”

 _All I wanted to hear._ “Regret-“

“Nothing.”

 _Not even the years and weeks and months-_ He gets that thought cut off by another kiss, losing his mind all over again as it starts to sink in that this is going to be a regular thing, before realising why and smiling into it as the words get whispered into his ear. _You’re psychic._

“Worth it.”


	17. Ne Te Puedo Ocultar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been years ♥ ... MotoGP's fault ;)!!
> 
> And also Cristiano Ronaldo's, a little bit. ;)
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH! I hope you like this, last proper chapter!! Title from Dime Luna by Mana :)

Iker: It’s been hours, I don’t even know how many times I called you

Iker: Don’t know what to think but I don’t think you’re joking

Iker: Get in touch

*

“Urgghhhh.” Sergio rolls over and squints into the light coming through the window, before starting to smile as he sees the already-awake and now slightly amused face looking back at him. _You’re here. You’re really here._ “Morning.”

“Morning.” He feels the flash of nerves for a brief second, this too soon for them to have been really washed away completely, before relaxing into a kiss and ending up forehead to forehead with the defender, senses overwhelmed already. _And I get to keep this, forever._ “Still love me, then…”

“Maybe a bit.” The spark as they make eye contact again is almost audible through the room. “I was more groaning because I just remembered something.”

“Did you…” Another kiss. “Secretly…” And another. “Marry her…”

“No.” Another kiss, through a smile as he ends up pinned down. “No I didn’t.”

“Good.” The striker’s mouth starts the slow journey down his neck, the sound of the stubble scratching making his hair stand on end, before he pauses mid-chest and looks back up. “Something bad, or..?”

“I don’t think so…” Sergio relaxes back into the pillow and gives himself up to it, not like resistance would have either made a difference or lasted very long anyway. “Not for me, anyway.”

“Spit it out.” Fernando circles his tip with his tongue and smiles at the resultant, guttural growl. _Come on._

“I told Iker we were gay and that we kissed.”

 _WHAT._ His head pops back up and their eyes lock. “What?!”

“I trust him.”

“When did you-“

“When you went out running. Away.”

 _Oh._ “Oh.”

“Sorry I didn’t-“

“What did he say-“

“I’ve no idea because I’ve not looked at my phone since.”

“Oh.”

“Is it ok or-“

The striker cuts him off with another kiss before going back to where he was before and swallowing him down, that making the point more than enough and leaving Sergio’s knuckles white as they grab into the sheets. _Bit late now._

*

38 missed calls:

Iker

Iker

Iker

Iker

Iker

*

Breakfast is spent gazing at each other. Something they’re both aware of and have probably been doing for some time anyway, although much better concealed, but still it makes them both blush slightly when they catch it happening, before Fernando is somehow bent over the table grunting as they can’t keep their hands off each other long enough to make it upstairs. And then they shower, and end up on the sofa watching TV, again. Relaxed, Fernando thinks, for the first time in too long. Hands wherever they want to be, skin contact welcomed rather than a source of paranoia. And he’s sure it’s a kind of unwritten agreement somehow, that the afternoon is when they deal with the fact that the captain of their national team and good friend and previous-victim-of-expensive-drunken-mistakes is still calling and sending messages, to both of them now. And they wait for the afternoon and finally dare to pick up their phones before the doorbell rings, both cringing and grinning at the noise, and the obviousness of it. Very few people knew the code to even get on the property, and only one knew it and would then use the doorbell and wait.

_Other than her._

“Well he doesn’t know…you know, everything…”

“Everything.”

“He just thinks we’re, you know…both gay and maybe interested in each other.”

“Course.” Fernando smiles sideways at him and raises his eyebrows. “That’s why he drove over here, I’m sure.”

“Definitely.”

The striker smiles and leads the way to the door, leaning into a kiss before they share that kind of _over the top of the trench_ kind of look and take a deep breath. “Do you think he’ll care-“

“I don’t know but if he does, I don’t.”

“Well this didn’t last long-“

“You know what I mean, _hombre._ ”

“I do, _amor._ ”

“Ok, come here.” Sergio pulls him into another kiss, too much looking back at him to hold himself back, and they share another one of those _this is really happening_ looks before they repeat the mini ceremony of nervousness and the defender pulls the door open, leaving time paused for a few split seconds as the new, shared reality sinks in.

“Finally.” The goalkeeper takes one look at them before the question obviously doesn’t need to be asked anymore, and he looks at the floor, hand rubbing his face and sighing, some kind of happy but weary horror at the conclusions being drawn.

“Iker.”

“Hi. Coffee please.”

Sergio catches his boyfriend’s eye and smiles before nodding back at his fellow Real player and beckoning him in. “Sugar?”

The goalkeeper smiles to himself, looking back up, before pinching Sergio’s cheek and shaking his head. “Sweet enough.” _I think that’s the ‘will he treat us differently’ question answered._

“Always.” The defender winks at him and grins at the laugh. _And the ‘can he still take a joke’ question, too._

The goalkeeper takes a deep, amused breath, and claps Fernando on the back. "Ok so who realised first-"

"No don't-"

"I called you 46 times, Sergio. You had your chance to answer ques-"

"But-"

"I think me." The striker cuts through the bickering, even more amusing given how the closest pair to an old married couple in the room is definitely not the two people doing a good impression of it, and sits down next to him in the kitchen, Sergio now huffing around the coffee making and swearing at the wrong buttons pressed too quickly. "But I'm not really sure now, because I can't actually remember what I see in him..."

A middle finger pops up behind the defender's back before Fernando grins and repeats Iker's _weary but happy_ face from the doorway as he walks over to him. "Go and sit down Sese-"

"I can-"

"No, baby. You really can't." The word makes Iker blush slightly behind them, Sergio blush quite a lot in front of him, and the coffee machine sends the point home with a loud and negative sounding gurgle and they lock eyes again. _I feel like this is going to cause our first domestic argument at some point._ "Please..."

The defender narrows his eyes before shrugging and giving up, leaving him with a slap on the ass and taking his vacated seat. "It was definitely me who knew first..."


	18. Epilogue 1: "No me iré sin antes brindar a tu salud"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Loca Por Ti!

_’And then I knew…’ Urgh._ He reads through what he has so far again and shakes his head before groaning at the ceiling. _This stuff is meant to be easy when you mean it. Or maybe it’s harder when you mean it because the other person already knows._

Sergio: Just to warn you, the speech is going to be bad

Fernando: Same, it’s really hard :/

Sergio: Jeje I bet it is ;)

Fernando: Don’t want to marry you anymore :P

Sergio: :( 

Fernando: I think you already know how I feel

Sergio: Same

Fernando: And it’s a difficult thing to write down

Sergio: I know. I hate tonight being apart as well

Fernando: We could just go and get a drink and write them together

Sergio: Very traditional jaja

Fernando: Well :P I feel like we’re writing what people expect us to say, you know everything important already

Sergio: Well I could do with some help

Fernando: Jajaja I KNOW

Sergio: Pffff

Fernando: ;) bar, 10 minutes. We’ll write them, have a drink, and nobody tells Iker ;)

Sergio: Jaja ok deal :D

Fernando: Your teeth are so white, even in texts :P

Sergio: You know when we’re married

Fernando: Hopefully

Sergio: Will you be nicer?

Fernando: No

Sergio: Shit

Fernando: ;) I’m here already

Sergio: Same, look up

“Hey.”

“Hey.” _And it still feels like you just walked into my life._ He takes a moment for his breath to come back before they both lean on the bar. “You know, we won a World Cup.”

“We did.”

“…but we can’t write a speech for our own wedding.”

“Nope.” Sergio grins sideways at him before catching the bartender’s attention, pointing at a beer and then raising two fingers. “Maybe we’ll manage it with team effort, again.”

“Maybe we will.” Fernando nods and studies him from the side for a few seconds as he pays for the drinks, before hitting him with a kiss and taking the bottle being offered to him. “It seems like a good philosophy.” _The kind that has made the difference between all this being worth it, and wanting to run away from the press forever._ “Regrets?”

“None.”

“Me. Neither.” The striker ignores a glare from someone across the room before they takes seats opposite each other at a table and lace their fingers between them; the new agreement, despite everything since they came out being so observed and reported and picked apart, vultures not leaving them alone, to ignore every single bit of it. He squeezes Sergio’s hand as they both take a second to fire up their public confidence, and then raises the bottle and smiles before a sip. “¡A tu salud!"


	19. Epilogue 2: "Mi verdad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Real twitter names but fictional tweets: this whole thing is fictional from start to finish! ;)
> 
> Thank you so much, I really hope you like this and liked it all. Your feedback has meant so much and means so much, just THANK YOU!!! ♥

@PilarRubio_: Today I have shared some thoughts about Sergio and Fernando ♥ you can read it here: "Mi Verdad"

_I first met Sergio after he’d met Fernando, although it never seemed very obvious to me at the time exactly what that would mean. We were very happy, and Fernando was a good friend, and the thought of there being anything more to it never crossed my mind._

_We had our arguments, like every couple. We were never mean, though, I don’t think. We never crossed a line, although we weren’t meant to be, and that’s true even down to the night where he disappeared to go and see the man who was about to become the centre of his world, much too late for it to really be normal, and I watched him go, and somehow I knew. However crazy the idea seemed then!_

_Sergio is a special person. A lot of people say that about a lot of people, but certainly to me Sergio will always be special. The man I loved and, I think, the man who loved me, briefly, is a truly great example of someone original. He learns from the world, and he’s grown a lot, and he has most definitely made mistakes! But he is Sergio, and he always was, and he always will be. The man, or one of them, making history today is someone who has done it before and I’m sure, somehow, will do it again. The bravery they’re both showing by going public and getting married is just another reminder of why I’m so happy to have been able to share even a few of the most important moments of his life with him, and I will always be proud to support him through whatever life throws us now. So congratulations to you both, and thank you for the memories! I hope we can make some more, and I hope you’re both happy, and will get happier and happier with each other, now you can be together as you always should have been._

_¡Felicitaciones por el gran "sí"!_

_Pilar_ xx

*

Sergio: Now I feel bad I never blogged about your wedding ;)

Pilar: Jaja I think this was a more important point! ♥

Sergio: Thank you

Pilar: Always. If he gets too annoying feel free to come over and moan. ;)

Sergio: Jaja ok :) [feel like you sent that offer to the wrong groom though jaja]

Pilar: Jaja maybe, I’ll forward it to him ;)

*

@SergioRamos: @PilarRubio thank you! For everything. I think this shows who is really special, amor.

*

Pilar: You didn’t have to reply and tweet!

Sergio: You didn’t have to do a lot of things, but I’m still grateful for every one. ♥ 

*

@SergioRamos: Thank you for the messages! Cheers to retirement @Torres! pic.twitter.com/jxcgvb

_Retweeted by Iker Casillas, Pilar Rubio, and 19,152 others._


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